


Clara Ruvelle And The Man With Two Faces

by aparticularbandit



Series: Where The Lightning Splits The Sea [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Also obviously there are more characters in this than those mentioned, But it's not entirely a rewrite, Crossover, F/F, Gen, It's in the same time period as the canon series, Think Ender's Game vs. Ender's Shadow and that's an apt comparison, but those are...in terms of relevance...ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 109,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit
Summary: The day Clara Ruvelle found out that magic existed, her mother walked out of her life.  Now, a few years later and with a stepmother who wants to control her every moment, she finds that she can go to a magical school where she can control her magic and maybe make some new friends along the way.  But not everything at Hogwarts is as simple and friendly as it seems, and Clara must learn to rely on her friends or be stuck alone.
Relationships: Luisa Alver & Rose Solano, Luisa Alver/Rose Solano, Rose Solano & Hermione Granger, Rose Solano & Miss Lint & Luisa Alver
Series: Where The Lightning Splits The Sea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913731
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. The Woman Who Ran

There was nothing that stood out about Henri Ruvelle, if you looked at him. His deep-set eyes were perhaps the most startling thing about him – a sparkling swath of green in an otherwise average and ordinary face. Looking at him, you’d expect them to be a muddy brown or a brilliant blue, which is what most people believed them to be, but stand close enough and the green leapt out like a warm summer day in the middle of winter. Henri knew this about himself and often styled his dusty blond hair out of his face so that their color was more noticeable, particularly when there was a pretty girl he wanted to impress. He especially did this when he went to visit Marie Clement.

His days would happen like this: wake up early, style his hair, go to Marie’s bakery for breakfast (usually a donut or croissant, something he could eat quickly on his way to work after spending his time talking with her instead of eating), work, go back to Marie’s bakery for lunch (he had a little longer than breakfast, but that didn’t mean he didn’t spend the entire time talking with Marie anyway), work, and then go to Marie’s bakery a third time for dinner before walking her to the little house she kept just next to the bakery. All of this time at the bakery might make Henri seem like an unwanted customer, but Marie often put him to task while he was talking with her – not anything that necessitated he be paid, of course, but frequently she would have him watch over her baby daughter, Clara, who hated to be cooped up in her crib all day and would fuss when held by anyone but Henri or Marie herself.

Every now and again, Marie would invite Henri into the little den of her house, and he would sit on the floor and play with Clara, watching as she would crawl about on the floor and clapping as she hesitantly took her first steps. He could see the beam of pride on Marie’s face whenever Clara learned something new. But sometimes he would sneak a glance at her when he was certain she didn’t know he was looking and noticed that she looked exhausted, sad, and lonely. He wanted nothing more than to make Marie feel just as warm and at home in his presence as she made him feel in hers, but he didn’t know how to do so.

One day, after weeks of considering it and building himself up, Henri determined to ask Marie out on a date. He whittled in his spare time – it was a habit he’d had since he was a boy, sitting outside on his front porch, whittling, and staring up at the stars – and he’d crafted a rose for Marie as part of his proposal (as well as a little wooden fox for Clara, who would probably stick the creature into her mouth and gnaw on it). As he walked, he whistled a little tune he’d made up himself some time ago. It was a simple one – five notes followed by four, a sort of teasing lilt modeled after the ragging children did in school. His hands were stuck in his pockets, and his boots scuffed against the ground as he walked.

Marie’s bakery was dark and smokeless and closed.

All thoughts of everything else fled from his head, and Henri sped to the little den nearby. He pounded on the front door. “Marie! Marie!”

The door opened all at once, and her freckled hand reached out and pulled him inside before shutting the door behind him with a loud slam. Before Henri could say anything else, Marie held a finger in front of her lips, brilliant blue eyes wide and frightened. He nodded once. The front room was barren; all of Clara’s toys were picked up and stowed away, the furniture seemed to have disappeared, and Clara herself was in a basket with a fox-shaped pacifier in her mouth, eyes looking around at everything with great curiosity. At first, Henri was proud of himself for the fox toy he’d made, and then he was startled by the emptiness of the room.

Henri met Marie’s eyes, his brow furrowing. “Are you going somewhere?”

Marie turned from Henri to Clara and then back again. “Do you love me?” she asked in a hush.

“What?”

There wasn’t really enough room between Marie and the door for Henri to take a step backward, but he did anyway and ran his back up against the door.

“Do you love me?” Marie repeated, her eyes wide. “Do you still love me?”

Henri rubbed the back of his neck as he turned from Marie to Clara. The baby had begun to fuss in her basket. He pushed past her to pick Clara up and held her to him, rocking her from side to side. Clara’s little hands clenched and unclenched, and he pulled the little wooden fox out of his back pocket and handed it to her so that she had something to hold onto. Then he turned back to Marie, who hadn’t had enough time to wipe the desperate, sad expression from her face before he saw it.

Marie was quiet, waiting for him.

Without any further consideration, Henri took the little wooden rose from his back pocket and walked over, handing it to her. “Of course,” he said, brow still furrowed. “I was meaning to be more proper about it, but I do. I love you, as much as I love anyone, and I love Clara, too.” He met Marie’s eyes again. “But you aren’t leaving, are you?”

Marie pressed her lips together then held her hands to either side of his head. There was a long wooden stick in one of her hands that Henri hadn’t noticed before. “I’m sorry, Henri.”

“Sorry? For what?” He tried to look at the hands on either side of his head, eyes widening. “Marie? What’s going on?”

Then there was a bright, blinding blue light, and his mind went blank.

* * *

There was nothing that stood out about Henri Ruvelle, if you looked at him. His deep set eyes were perhaps the most startling thing about him – a sparkling swath of green in an otherwise average and ordinary face. His wife, Marie, would often comment in the morning when they woke that this was his best feature, and he would style his hair so that they would glint all the more clearly in her direction whenever he saw her. When the customers at her bakery would ask how they fell in love, Marie would say that it only took one look from those eyes of his for her to fall deeply in love with him. Henri would glance down at the ground, scuff the floor with the toe of his boot, shove his hands into his back pockets, and rock backwards before looking back up with the most sheepish grin he had.

If asked, Henri couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Marie. He would say that it must have come in a lot of small moments and then rushed at him all at once. But ask him for one exact moment, and he couldn’t say when it was, when he realized. There must have been one. He didn’t really worry too much about it.

He loved his wife. He loved his daughter.

That was really all that mattered.


	2. Discovering Magic

Marie Ruvelle would never have said that her family lived a normal life. Ordinary for a Muggle family, perhaps, but not normal. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated on her daughter’s first birthday, she’d hidden her celebration behind joy over her daughter’s life and lit extra candles for the young couple she’d heard died in the final battle. There were rumors, of course, even then. It was the Wizarding World. If someone wasn’t making money off of it somehow, then it hadn’t really happened.

Her husband hadn’t known to be excited, and she hadn’t explained it to him. How could she? He was a Muggle, after all, and he didn’t have the smallest inkling of the world she’d been born into. Marie meant to keep it that way for as long as possible. If she had her druthers, she wouldn’t return to that world at all. She was tired.

So tired.

Besides, Marie rarely used her talents for anything anymore. Her magic kept the curls in her red hair despite all of the heat and sweat in her little bakery, and her prowess with potions and herbs was translated into cookies, pastries, rolls, and buns. They were _good_ but not _too good_. Enough that her money, combined with her husband’s, allowed them to get by. That was all they really needed. That was all she wanted.

And if, when they’d first moved to the town in which they now resided, she’d considered it best to add something to modify the memories of the townspeople, what of it? No one noticed. No one cared. It kept them safe.

Her daughter, Clara, began showing signs of magic when she was three years old. It sent shocks of panic up Marie’s spine to see Clara floating around the backyard, pushing herself high enough to pull an apple from the highest branch of the tree next door, and then slowly dropping down until she landed back in the center of their yard, breaking the skin of the apple with her baby teeth. She never thought Clara would be _hurt_. Magical impulses didn’t work like that, not for children. They were more _protective_ , as though their abilities bubbled around them in case something – or someone – wanted to harm them. Sometimes, like in Clara’s case, it was propelled by _desire_ , but there was never any worry that she might fall from that height and break her arm or anything like that. Untrained magic, impulsive magic, intuitive magic that only truly happened in the minds of children who didn’t know that there were limits – that there _had_ to be limits – never _harmed_ anyone.

No, the real worry was how Henri, Marie’s husband, might react when he found out.

Different Muggles reacted in different ways when they discovered the magical world. Some of them wanted to study or examine it, to take magical creatures or humans with magical abilities and dissect them until they found out what created their magic so that they might figure out how to give it to others or control it for themselves or _market it_ , even. Others pretended as though they hadn’t seen anything at all or acted as though what they’d seen was only a hallucination or a dream; no matter how much evidence was brought before them, they couldn’t see it as _real_. Sometimes, even after accepting the fact, they wanted nothing to do with it. Still others were in awe and wanted more examples, more magic, and believed that it would make their lives easier when it never really did, instead bringing its own unique complications to their lives.

For all she knew of her husband, Marie was uncertain how he would react. Maybe he would react as those other Muggles did, or maybe he would react in a way she couldn’t imagine yet. Even then, the Ministry of Magic might require that his mind be wiped, even though he was married to a witch, or that the two of them reintegrate into wizarding society. This was _less_ likely, as they didn’t often interfere in the affairs of married couples unless one or the other party decided to take magic public.

Henri didn’t seem the sort to do so, but Marie couldn’t know for sure. Not until after.

So any time Clara showed even the smallest inkling of magic, Marie suppressed it. She began mixing herbs into Clara’s food that would dampen her magical ability – not a _permanent_ effect, of course, but one that would hide everything until Marie was ready to reveal the truth to her husband.

Clara’s magic was suppressed for a long time.

* * *

Clara Ruvelle always went to school with sandwiches and apples and juice that her mother made and packed herself. This was the way it always was. Her mother was never sick, and her parents never sent any money in case she lost her food, and her mother’s food was so _good_ that she never wanted to trade it with anyone.

Well. That was what she knew her mother _hoped_ , and it was certainly what Clara told her if she was ever asked.

But this wasn’t the case at all. Clara’d made friends at school. She’d grown _tired_ of eating the same sandwiches or meat pies or _fruit pies_ day after day after day. It wasn’t that they were _bad_. They were good! But the same thing day after day, even if it was good, got…boring. And the school lunches had all sorts of other things! Pizza, for one. It was greasy and cheesy and covered with pepperoni! And Allison had promised to trade her lunches whenever she wanted.

So she did.

A lot.

 _More_ than a lot. It was almost every day. Sure, it was nice to have her mother’s food once a week, but the longer she was at school, the more she traded them away and the more she found that people other than Allison were up for trading with her, too.

It’s not like it was _hard_.

Of course, Clara kept whatever note her mother left for her. It didn’t do any good if someone else tried to read it, as she and her mother often communicated in the language of flowers. She didn’t always understand it herself because she wasn’t very good at it yet, but her classmates wouldn’t have been able to understand even a lick of it.

But the food? People _bet_ on that stuff now, and Clara was always the winner.

* * *

Clara sat at her desk, tapping the eraser end of her pencil against the hard wooden top. They’d been teaching letters in cursive this week. She’d only just gotten used to them in print, and now they were trying to make them all fancy. The letters swam in front of her eyes. Her head started to throb. The tap-tap-tapping of the pencil on her desk helped her focus.

“Miss Ruvelle.”

Clara looked up between strands of kinky, curly red hair and brushed it back out of her eyes. Her teacher stood tall and rigid in front of her, brown hair pulled back into a tight little bun. “Yes, Ms. Hannigan?”

“Please cease your pencil tapping.”

Clara scowled. Her eyes went back to the paper in front of her, and she stopped tapping her pencil. Instead, she started sketching around the letters, turning them into little stick figure animals. The cursive _t_ , for instance, could be a little Asian hotel if it was double-crossed and she just—

“Miss Ruvelle.”

Clara’s eyes returned to her teacher. “Yes, Ms. Hannigan?”

“Please kindly cease your doodling.” Ms. Hannigan placed a clean worksheet onto Clara’s desk. “And please transfer your writing over to a new page before turning it in.”

Clara heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes as Ms. Hannigan turned around and walked away. She stuck her tongue out at her teacher’s back and then started redoing her work. Cursive letters. More practice. It all seemed like such a waste. She glanced out the window and watched as a few birds flitted from one branch to the other. It was such a _nice_ day. Why did they have to be stuck inside like this?

Her brow furrowed as she turned back to her new sheet and continued writing the alphabet over and over. She hated the way the capital _l_ looked. And how it looked like the capital _q_! Which also looked something like a _2_. She wished there was a better way to tell the letters apart instead of just _practice_.

Then, for the briefest of moments, one of the letters seemed to shimmer and wave one of its lines at her!

Clara shook her head and looked closer, squinting at her sheet.

“Miss Ruvelle?”

Clara’s head snapped up, and she blinked in her teacher’s direction. “Yes, Ms. Hannigan?”

“What are you doing?”

Clara looked down at her sheets – the one covered with doodles and the new, clean one on which she was redoing her work. “What you told me to do,” she said, looking back up, confused. She held up the new sheet. “Moving my stuff over.”

 _Because you don’t like my doodles_ , she thought. Which was fine with her. Clara was content to doodle more on that page when she was done with this one. She didn’t like having to do her work twice, but at this point, she didn’t see as she had much choice.

Ms. Hannigan’s lips pressed together. “Sit _correctly_ , Miss. Ruvelle.”

_Sit correctly?_

Clara wasn’t sure what Ms. Hannigan meant. She was sitting in her seat just like everyone else was, just like she always did, except when she stuck her legs through the little iron bit that held the desk up. She could fit through that thing _easy_ , but Ms. Hannigan kept saying she would hit her head. She never did. Besides, she wasn’t doing that _now_. At least, she didn’t think she was.

So she looked around and noticed that she was hovering a few centimeters above her seat. Not enough for Ms. Hannigan to notice, but enough that she looked suddenly _taller_ , she guessed. Within a few seconds of her noticing, her body dropped back into her chair with a soft _thunk_. As soon as Ms. Hannigan turned away from her again, she rubbed her backside. The chairs were _hard_ , and falling into one, even from only a few centimeters up, was _not_ fun!

One of the birds outside tweeted loudly, and Clara looked over to see a small yellow one peering at her curiously. It was then that she had a _wonderful_ idea! A wonderful _horrible_ wonderful idea. She finished her writing in a hurry, faster even than the first time she’d finished it, and instead of going back to doodling on her first sheet again, she began to squirm about in her seat. Then, after a few minutes of this, she raised her right hand.

“Ms. Hannigan?”

Her teacher turned back to her with a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Miss Ruvelle?”

“Can I go to the bathroom? I’ve finished all my work and I _really_ need to go.”

Ms. Hannigan looked her over, and Clara squirmed in her seat just a little bit more to sell the line. Then her teacher sighed again and gave a firm nod. “You may go.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hannigan!” Clara jumped out of her seat and rushed from the room.

“ _Walk, Miss Ruvelle!_ ” came shouting down the hallway after her, and Clara skidded to a halt. She shoved her hands in her pockets and started to walk down the empty hallway, looking around every now and again to make sure there weren’t any teachers or hall monitors looking. When she was certain that the coast was completely clear, she sprinted down the rest of the hallway and out the back door to the playground, being careful to close the door behind her so soft that it wouldn’t make a sound.

Okay. Now. She could hover; she’d _seen_ that she could hover. Without thinking about it, maybe, but she could hover. Now she just needed to learn how to _control_ that.

Clara strolled over to one of the benches on the playground and sat down and closed her eyes. She focused. Her mom had taught her to do this whenever she felt full to bursting with anything – a new idea, some stupid thing one of the kids on the street said, _anything_ – and she could feel the excitement over hovering burning a hole in the middle of her chest. She took a deep breath, let it out, and then opened her eyes again.

Nothing.

Clara pressed her lips together into a thin little line, bit down on her lower lip, and then closed her eyes again. Her hands gripped tight onto the boards of the bench, and she took another deep breath. Her feet weren’t long enough yet to touch the ground from where she sat, but she was certain she would know when she was hovering. She let the breath out again and then opened her eyes.

Still nothing.

Clara squirmed in her seat. This was useless. What was the point of being able to hover if you couldn’t call it on command? Maybe she’d been wrong. It was only a few centimeters, after all. But her backside still hurt from thunking against the chair, so it had to have really happened. She reached back to rub where she’d hit and then stuffed her hand into her pocket, pulling out the note her mom had put in her lunch today. Most of the time she didn’t keep them very long, but this was the first time her mom had used her secret flower name, the one she’d chosen for herself so that the entire letter just looked like a list of flowers. _No one_ would be able to figure it out now. She crossed her legs underneath her, smoothed out the letter, which had grown wrinkled from being stuffed in her pocket, and began to read it.

First, there was a rose – just a simple one – because that was her identifying flower, her name, which meant that this letter was meant for her. This was followed by a yellow rose, which had a lot of meanings, but usually when her mom used it, she was proclaiming her undying love for her, and it was usually matched with a pink carnation for a mother’s love, just as it was now. This was followed by a blackthorn – protection, good fortune – mostly this was telling her to have a good day at school. Then there was a mixture of yellow and red roses – her mom used them so often that it had seemed obvious to Clara to choose them as her name, because then whenever her mother used them she was also signifying _her_ , and she liked the pun – these meant joy and excitement, but also something of friendship beneath them. This was followed by one last red rose for true love and finished with ivy, which was her mom’s identifying flower.

All in all, the letter said the following:

_Clara, my dearest one, this is your mother who loves you. Have good fortune at school! Have fun with your friends! I love you! Marie._

It was very short because Clara wasn’t very good at the language, but these were primarily flowers that she knew well, so it was easier to get through the message than she once did. When she was better at it, her mother would stop listing the flowers and start giving her bouquets - mixing everything all together so that Clara would have to decipher the meaning herself. She wasn't looking forward to that at all.

Hovering had to be kind of like reading flower language, she figured. The first few times it would be really hard, and trying to do a bunch with it would be hard, too. But after a while, she would get used to it, and then it would come easier, and then eventually she would be able to hover and fly around without even thinking about it.

But to get to that point, first she had to learn how to control it.

Clara shoved her mom’s note back into her back pocket, where it crumpled at the edges, and then she closed her eyes again. Her hands gripped the edge of the bench again. She took a deep breath, focused, counted to five, and then let it out. She didn’t even try to hover; she just sat there, her legs crossed, and listened to everything around her.

Then, all of a sudden, her arms began to stretch out, and she knew, she knew, _she knew_ that she was hovering – that despite those first few attempts, she was doing it now!

Clara giggled and opened her eyes. It was like she was a balloon, a little red one, and her hands were the strings holding her close to the ground. So she let go!

There was no panic as she started to float higher. Clara couldn’t exactly _control_ it, but it seemed like the floating wasn’t going to go so high that she would get hurt if it suddenly stopped. It was almost like the pixie dust kind of flying in movies, only without the faith or the trust or even the pixie dust itself. So really not like that at all.

Clara floated up into one of the trees and got her hair stuck on branches and pulled back so that instead of floating through the tree she was floating around it. Higher and higher she went until she could sit just on the top of the tallest branch, if she wanted to. Instead, she found the little yellow bird who had been chirping at her through the window while she’d still been in class, and she floated closer to it, smiling. She chirped at the bird, who happily chirped back, and although she didn’t understand exactly what the bird was saying, she felt as though she understood what it was trying to say. The bird wasn’t _upset_ with her for floating so far above the ground or finding where it sat in the trees; in fact, it was celebrating her accomplishments! It was happy with her! It was—

“ _Clara Ruvelle!_ ”

Clara froze in place and turned, sheepishly, to look at Ms. Hannigan. She hadn’t expected her teacher to follow her outside. It wasn’t like she hadn’t finished her work for the day. They only had a little bit longer before the final bell rang, too, just enough for her to land and get back to class for her stuff and _maybe_ to spend a little more time chirping with the bird.

“ _What_ are you _doing_?” Ms. Hannigan’s eyes were so wide that Clara could see the whites around them, and the more the teacher looked at her, the more shocked her expression became, her mouth even dropping open!

 _Be careful you don’t let any flies get in!_ Clara wanted to say, because her mother had always said it to her before taking a spoon of cookie dough or stew or whatever else she was cooking and flying it directly into her mouth. She didn’t think Ms. Hannigan would appreciate that, though.

“ _How_ did you get up there?” Ms. Hannigan called. “How are you doing that?”

Clara grabbed one of the branches at the top of the tree and held on tight. As soon as she did so, gravity seemed to take hold of her again, and she stopped floating. Now she was dangling from that branch, held up only by the strength of her scrawny little hand and the thickness of the branch which hadn’t yet snapped under her weight. “I was _climbing_ ,” Clara lied as she dangled from the tree branch, “and now I’m stuck. Help me!”

Ms. Hannigan glared at her, and Clara couldn’t be sure that she’d convinced the woman she’d been _climbing_ instead of _floating_. Even as young as she was, Clara knew people like herself weren’t supposed to float, and she was afraid if she said that’s what she’d been doing _it_ would be forbidden to her, too. But with no other way to react, Ms. Hannigan went back inside to find a ladder.

Clara used that moment to start floating again. It was easier this time than it had been that first time, just like stretching a muscle. She grabbed onto the branch with her other hand, and then she swung herself back up so that she was sitting on top of the branch. From there, it was simple to start climbing down the tree instead of floating, and by the time Ms. Hannigan had returned, Clara had made it down enough of the tree that she no longer needed her teacher’s help. She brushed bark and leaves from her pants, not really paying attention to the twigs stuck in her crinkly red hair, and grinned up at her teacher. “I got myself down.”

“I’m sure you did,” Ms. Hannigan said, and her jaw clenched.

It was then that Clara saw her mother standing just behind her teacher. She was absolutely certain that she hadn’t been there before, but she must have been so preoccupied with trying to climb down that she hadn’t seen her approach. Clara let out a deep breath. School must have gotten out, too, but she couldn’t see anyone else on the playground or waiting outside for their parents, and there weren’t any buses yet to take anyone else home. She looked from her mother to Ms. Hannigan and then back again, her grin fading. “Did I do something wrong?”

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. She glanced to Ms. Hannigan but didn’t say anything to her. Instead, she turned away, turning Clara with her. “C’mon, dear. Let’s get you home.”

“But my stuff!” Clara exclaimed, frustrated. “My backpack and my drawings!”

Her mother paused. She looked straight ahead and pressed her lips together. Then she nodded once. “Go get them. Quickly. And if you see one,” she said, her voice quieting, “bring me a white rose.”

 _A white rose._ Clara nodded and ran back inside. She ran past Ms. Hannigan and started to sprint down the halls, considering the flower, until she realized what her mother must have meant – silence, secrecy – _certainly_ not humility, because that didn’t make any sense. She slowed to a crawl and crept silently into her classroom. Her friends stared at her as she stuffed her backpack. So school _hadn’t_ gotten out yet. Why was her mom here, then?

Clara didn’t offer her friends any sort of explanation. Something about everything – about her mom showing up, about being told to be secret and silent – scared her. When she got back outside, she began to run again, skidding to a stop across the ground and kicking up a bunch of dust as she made it to her mother. “Got it. We can go now.”

Her mother took her hand and gave it a little squeeze, just like she had when her hand was on Clara’s shoulder. She looked briefly back towards Ms. Hannigan. “Thank you for calling.”

“I’ll see you on Monday!” Clara said, looking over her shoulder at Ms. Hannigan as her mother led her away. She gave her teacher a bright grin, but Ms. Hannigan wasn’t smiling back.

* * *

Clara’s mother was all in a flurry as soon as they got to their house. Flour poofed from her hair and her summer dress as she moved, pulling out suitcases. She handed one to Clara and tapped it with what looked like a long, thin stick. It sprang open all of its own accord.

_Magic!_

Clara had never seen her mother do anything like _that_ before. 

She watched her slack-jawed as her mother began to move from one room to the other with her newly opened suitcase. When Clara hadn’t moved as she came back into the living room, she waved her hand. “Clara! _Pack!_ ”

But Clara still didn’t move. Her eyes focused on the stick, which her mother had tucked into one of the loops of her dress, and she looked back up to her mom. “Why are we packing? What’s that? How are you doing magic?”

Her mom moved across the room and cupped Clara’s face with one hand as she bent down to look her daughter in the eye. “I will explain all of that later. But right now, we need to go. Before anyone finds you.”

“What about Dad?”

Her mom took a deep breath. “He’ll join us later,” she said, finally. “When it’s safe.”

But Clara knew her mom, and she knew her mom was lying. She just nodded once and took a suitcase, the one her mom had opened for her (with magic!), and ran into her bedroom, leaving her backpack lying on the ground. She wasn’t sure what all to pack or how long they would be gone, but if her dad wasn’t going to be joining them, then she needed to pack _everything_. She started stuffing the suitcase with her clothes – the jeans and the overalls and the shirts and her good boots but not the dresses or the dress shoes because even if her momma liked them, Clara didn’t and she didn’t want to waste valuable space on them. Once all the clothes she wanted were in the suitcase (along with a couple of hats she liked when it was really hot out), she started packing in her stuffed animals, her two pillows, and her toys. She was surprised to find that the suitcase, small as it was, seemed to hold everything without any problem. After the toys, she started filling it with her favorite books. No matter what she put into the suitcase, it never seemed to get any heavier, and when she was done packing, she shut the top and it locked itself shut!

The suitcase scared her, so Clara kept her little fox plushie, the one she always slept with, wrapped tight in her arms, and she kept the storybook about the witches and foxes with it. Then she ran back into the living room to meet her mom. “I’m all packed!” she exclaimed, eyes searching everywhere for her mother.

Marie came into the living room, followed by two more suitcases that hovered in the air the same way that Clara had hovered near the tree at school. She lifted the thin little stick and the suitcase behind Clara began to hover as well. Clara let out a little gasp as the three suitcases and her own backpack followed her mother outside. Her mother tied them all onto what looked like a broomstick, patted it once, and then turned back to Clara with her arms open wide. “Come here, Clara.”

Clara didn’t move. “You’re a witch?” she asked, voice soft.

“I will explain later,” her mom repeated, arms still open wide. “Come here. We have to go.”

“But I don’t want to go,” Clara said, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “What about Dad? You said he would come find us later. How is he going to find us if we fly away?”

It didn’t matter that she already knew that her father wouldn’t be joining them. She’d been excited when she was floating, and then she’d been excited when her mother started showing off what appeared to be magic, but now she was just afraid.

“I’ll help him,” her mother said, arms still open wide. “ _Please_ , Clara.” She could hear the pleading in her mother’s voice as she continued, “We need to leave. **Now.** ”

Clara was afraid, but it sounded like her mom was afraid, too. She didn’t know what could cause someone with magic to be afraid. It just made her more scared. She turned and looked over her shoulder as though they were being watched, but she couldn’t see anything. Then she ran to her mother’s arms. Even if she was scared of what her mom was doing, she trusted her. She didn’t trust whatever it was her mom was afraid of, and she didn’t want to be alone.

Her mother wrapped her arms around her and then arranged her in front of her on the broom the same way you might with a child on a horse or a motorcycle. The suitcases were tied, spelled, onto the back of the broom, and after pressing a quick kiss on Clara’s cheek, her mom made to kick off from the ground—

“Marie?”

Clara could feel her mother freeze behind her, but that didn’t matter! She turned, and there was her father, only about a yard away! “Good, he’s here! He can come with us!” Clara said excitedly. She looked back at her mother, but she still looked afraid.

Her mom didn’t say anything.

“Marie, what are you doing?” Clara’s father stepped forward, one hand out, and his eyes were wide as he took in the broom and the suitcases. “What is all of this?”

“She’s a witch!” Clara exclaimed, but as she looked from her father to her mom, she wasn’t certain she should have said anything at all. How could her dad not know? _She_ hadn’t known, but she couldn’t see how her mom could have kept it a secret from her dad. She nudged her mom with her elbow. “Tell him. Tell him we have to go and that he has to pack so that he can come with us.”

“Go where?” her father asked.

But Clara’s mother still wasn’t saying anything.

“Where are you taking our daughter, Marie?”

Clara knew that tone. She knew when her father was getting dangerous, angry, _loud_. His voice got all quiet but with an edge to it, like it did now. She turned back to her mother. “Mom?”

Her mother rubbed a hand along Clara’s back. “Go ahead and get up, dear,” she said finally, voice soft. As Clara jumped from the broom, her mother finally turned to face her dad. “Go inside. I need to have a talk with your father.”

* * *

Clara could hear their voices from her room. She sat on her bed with her legs tucked up under her and her fox plushie held tight against her. Her parents fought sometimes, and they were loud sometimes, but it had never been quite like this before. Most other times she could at least make out what they were saying, usually something to do with money that they didn’t have and her mother reassuring her dad that they would get by. Her mother was always right, of course. They _did_ always get by. And Clara’d never felt like they were poor. She had food. She had books and clothes, even clothes she didn’t like. She had toys, and she had her fox plushie. None of the rest really mattered.

But this time, her mother kept insisting that her father keep his voice down, as though she didn’t want Clara to overhear what they were saying. She could make out snatches every now and again – _magic_ and _witches_ and once something that sounded like _why didn’t you tell me?_ – but this one was so quiet that she could have imagined it. There were slams of cabinets in the background; sometimes her mother liked to cook while they were talking, just to keep her hands busy, and Clara imagined this was what she was doing now, rolling out dough over and over, thwacking it with her rolling pin once or twice to make her point (or to cover up her words). The thought soothed her.

Clara _wanted_ to stay awake the entire time, but they’d waited until after dinner to have the conversation. She’d been sent to bed early with her mother’s magically locking trunk, something about needing to unpack, but she wasn’t sure her dad was the best one to trust about all of that. Instead, she’d curled up in bed with her fox and held it close and listened. But the longer she listened, straining her ears to hear mostly nothing, the harder it was to stay awake. She’d had such an exciting day that she was exhausted. Whatever happened, they’d tell her in the morning when she woke up – it was the weekend, after all, so they’d all be home the next day!

It was with this in mind that Clara finally allowed herself to fall asleep.

She woke up to a sharp knocking on her bedroom door, breathing fast. Her mother’s trunk was gone, and all of her things seemed to have been put back exactly where they had been before. It _must_ have been magic! She turned in her bed to grab her fox, but no matter where she looked (even under the bed), she couldn’t find it. She must have dropped it in her sleep somewhere on the far side of the bed; it was too hard to keep looking with the sharp knocks on her door.

When she opened her bedroom door, her father was standing there, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s wrong?” Clara asked him. She knew better than to try and push past him right now, especially if he had something to say.

“It’s late,” he said, after a short pause. “You should be up by now.”

Clara nodded and looked around him. “Where’s Mama?”

“Gone.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “Gone?” she echoed, unable to believe it. There was no _way_ her mother would leave them like that! Not without coming to tell her goodbye! He had to be joking!

Clara pushed past her father and ran into the living room, but her mother wasn’t there. She ran into the kitchen, where her mom normally was first thing on Saturday mornings, but she wasn’t there either. And when she ran to her parents’ bedroom, she was met with empty cabinets, a half-empty closet – her mother’s things all gone, as though her mother had never been there at all, except for the blank spaces she’d left behind.

Her dad found her in his bedroom and picked her up in his strong arms. Clara buried her head in his neck and then pounded her fists on his chest. “How could you? Let me go!”

But despite her cries and despite her pleading, Henri didn’t let her go. Instead, he brushed a hand through her curls and told her everything was going to be alright. But as much as he said it, Clara couldn’t bring herself to believe him.


	3. The Existence of Schools

Henri Ruvelle got married again.

Clara wasn’t sure how he met the woman, but the more her magic caused problems both at school and at home, the more he’d seemed _desperate_. Clara couldn’t control the spurts that made all the flour burst from its containers in the kitchen and cover everything in fine white dust like hot snow, couldn’t control the burst of anger that sent cracks like spider webbing through her father’s bedroom window when she was all the way in the other room, couldn’t control the spike of fear that made an image she was _sure_ was a ghost appear just outside her closet in the middle of the night shortly after her mom left. She never mentioned the ghost to her dad, but the other two were just a couple of things in a series of reactions and _over_ reactions that seemed to grow in frequency both after her mother left and as she grew older.

It wasn’t until the January after her tenth birthday that her father finally found the woman who would become her stepmother – another witch, like her mom had been. Clara had instantly hated her. There was something about the lime green fire that seemed to flare behind her black eyes that sent shivers down her spine, and what was worse, the woman seemed to be able to immediately put a halt to most of Clara’s magical outbursts. That wasn’t bad in and of itself, she supposed, and that she could fix the problems Clara caused with magic certainly made her dad feel a lot better, but….

Well, Clara didn’t like her.

She just _didn’t_.

* * *

Clara was sitting cross-legged in her room one hot morning in the middle of July when it happened. She’d stowed away in her bedroom to avoid her stepmother’s piercing gaze, and while she’d never found her stuffed fox since her mother left, she’d soon grown much too old for stuffed animals. Most of them were now crammed under her bed or in a corner of her closet. They’d been there so long they were covered in spider webs and dust. Every now and again, she looked up, saw one, and thought—

It didn’t matter what she thought. She couldn’t just get rid of them. They were the last connection she had to her mom. She’d outgrown all of the fancy dresses her mom had liked, she’d lost the fox she had given her when she was a baby, and the book of fairytales her mom used to read to her with the different voices had disappeared entirely, as though it had never existed in the first place. The only thing she had other than the stuffed animals were the photos she kept hidden away in a cardboard box in her top drawer and that last note her mother had left in her lunchbox.

When her stepmother first moved in, she’d made a point to get rid of all the pictures of Clara’s mom that were still around the house. There weren’t many left by that point. It’d been years since her mother left, and Clara’s dad had already gotten rid of most of them. There were a scattered few left in his room and in Clara’s, and when Clara realized what her stepmother was doing, she gathered up the ones she could find and hid them away where her stepmother couldn’t get to them. She didn’t pull them out very often anymore, afraid that if she did and she was caught, her stepmother would punish her. Maybe not shave her head again, as she had when it had been so tangled she couldn’t get a brush through, but something like that. Something horrible.

Clara was looking at one of those pictures when it happened. It was a particularly old, black-and-white photo of her mother covered in flour and herself just next to her, covered in maybe _more_ flour. Both of them had huge smiles on their faces, and in the picture, Clara was laughing, giggling like she’d been tickled pink. Even in the photo, her freckles showed dark through the white of the flour. Her thumb ran along the shiny photo paper—

Then there came a _wham!_ at her window, and Clara jumped.! She turned to hide the photo in her cardboard box before turning around to face it. There was a bird of some sort flying just outside the window pane, and she shoved the box of photos under her bed before walking over to it. The closer she got, the more she realized the bird outside was a snowy white owl, and by the time she opened the window, a second one, this one a deep tawny brown, had joined it. Each of the owls seemed unpleased that the other one was there, and when Clara took the letter from the snowy owl’s leg first, it pecked at the feathers of the tawny one before flying off once more. She took the letter from the other owl, and it seemed to glare at her before spreading its wings and flying off, too.

 _Then_ came the pounding at her _door_.

“Clara!” her stepmother yelled. “What are you doing in there?”

Clara quickly shoved the letters under her pillow where her stepmother couldn’t see them. “Nothing!” she yelled back. “Just wanted to open my window!”

It took a moment before her stepmother burst through her bedroom door. Her dark eyes were narrowed, and Clara could imagine the bright green flames dancing behind her. “What have I told you about opening your window?” She stalked into the room and over to the window, slamming it closed.

“Never, never. Open windows leave room for pixies to get in, and we don’t want pixies,” Clara said in a droll tone. She didn’t really care. She _wanted_ to meet a pixie. They’d probably be a lot nicer than her stepmother was.

The woman moved around Clara’s bed as though to leave the room, but before Clara could see to hide it, her eyes alighted on a feather the white owl had left behind. Clara grabbed for it, but her stepmother was faster. She snatched the feather and held it in front of her face. “And where did _this_ come from?”

“I don’t know,” Clara lied. “Must have been stuck to me when I came inside from playing.”

“You haven’t gone outside to play today.”

“Must have been stuck to me from yesterday.”

Her stepmother glared at her. “Were you climbing trees again?”

“No.” Not entirely a lie. Clara had spent the day at the riverbank, munching on stolen apples and drinking directly from the river. She’d started floating again and ended up in one of the trees to hide – her stepmother Elena would _kill_ her if anyone saw her using magic outside of her family. She’d made very strict warnings about how careful Clara had to be. It didn’t matter how much Clara tried to explain that she couldn’t _control_ it.

“Then where did this feather come from?”

“I don’t know.” Clara shrugged. “Birds fly everywhere. Could’ve dropped it on me. Could’ve picked it up without knowing about it. I don’t know.”

Elena’s eyes narrowed. She glanced around the room, and Clara held her breath, hoping against hope that the letters were hidden well enough that her stepmother couldn’t see them. After a tense few minutes, Elena flicked the feather out from between her fingers. She slammed Clara’s bedroom door behind her as she left.

Clara let out a deeply held breath. She waited until her stepmother’s footsteps sounded far away, and then she pulled the letters out from under her pillow. Now that she’d hidden them, she no longer knew which letter came from which owl. But that didn’t matter. She scanned the two of them and then picked the one with the writing that seemed _fancier_ and greedily ripped into it.

She read through the pages within the envelope.

Once.

Twice.

Then she tore into the other envelope. She read through the pages and found they said much the same thing, although the list of supplies was slightly different.

Clara sat on her bed with the pages, the envelopes, and the shredded pieces around her and wasn’t sure how to react. She’d been accepted into _witches’ schools_. And not just one of them! _Two!_

The first one – _Beauxbatons_ – at first she’d read it as _beautiful wands_ before realizing that it wasn’t meant to be translated – was closer to where she lived in Switzerland, just across the mountains in France. The writing was much fancier than that of the letter from the other school, which was slightly more blocky but with a certain flourish to it. Even the name didn’t sound as nice – _Hogwarts_ – as if she wanted to travel all the way to England to go to a school named after a pig.

But would she even be given the choice?

Clara knew how her dad felt about magic. He didn’t _hate_ it, but he hated that she couldn’t control it. If she could convince him that going to a school for magic would help with that, he’d probably let her go.

But her stepmother, Elena?

Well. Clara knew exactly what she had to do. She had to get to her dad and talk it over with him before Elena even found out she had the letters. That had to be her plan of action. And she had to persuade him that—

 _No._ Better thought. Just tell him there’s only _one_ set of letters. Then he wouldn’t think he had to choose between schools, and then she could go to the school _she_ wanted! Without having to worry about what her wicked stepmother thought!

* * *

A few hours later, her dad arrived home from work. Clara could tell from the pounding of his boots on their thin floors. She waited until she could hear Elena leaving the house (for groceries, probably, for her potions and spells and whatever) before she crept into the living room. Her father was stretched out in his chair, a bottle of beer in one hand, its bottle cap next to the trash can and the other bottles littering the floor. She didn’t have long; Elena only took a little bit of time to go to the shops. She always did this alone, not wanting to be bothered by any of Clara’s indiscretions and not wanting to bother Clara’s dad after he just got off from work.

“Dad?” Clara asked as she crept into the room, searching briefly for Elena and relaxing when she couldn’t see her stepmother anywhere. That woman was _tricky_. It might’ve sounded like she left, but that didn’t always mean she actually had. Good for Clara that this time she seemed to be gone.

Her dad glanced up. His eyes weren’t quite glazed over yet because this was only his first bottle, and he nodded in Clara’s direction. “Clara,” he said with a smile, and it seemed almost like the good times before her mother left. “Come here.” He patted his lap.

Clara grinned and scrambled into her dad’s lap, the letter from Beauxbatons grasped in her hands.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I got a letter today,” Clara said, her voice as soft as she could manage to make it. “From a school of magic.” She felt her dad tense and watched as his jaw clenched. “I think,” she continued anyway, being very careful with her words, “if I went, they’d teach me how to control things so that I wouldn’t cause you anymore trouble.”

Her dad’s face softened. He brushed one of his worn hands through her tangled red hair. Then his eyes moved to the letter. “Let me see it.”

Clara handed him the letter. She watched his face as he read, trying to guess at what he was thinking. Her heart beat quickly at the idea that her stepmother might find them like this, might find him reading the letter, might find that she’d lied again. He stopped when he got to the last page. “Where would we get all of _this_ crap?” he asked, his hand hitting the page.

“Elena might know,” Clara said, making sure to keep her voice just as soft as before, “if you asked her.”

Her dad gave a sharp _hm_ sound. He rubbed his chin with one hand and then nodded his head once sharply. “It all seems like a good idea to me.” He folded the letter very carefully along its creases and then looked at Clara. “Do _you_ want to go?”

At first, Clara didn’t know what to say. Well, _of course_ , she knew what to say – _yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!_ She wanted to learn her mother’s magic. She wanted to see if any of the teachers there knew anything about her mother. She wanted to see if she could find her again. But she couldn’t tell her dad any of that. And as she looked into his deep green eyes, she said, finally, “Yes. Yes, very, very much.”

Henri nodded once again. “Okay, then,” he said with a smile. “I’ll talk to your stepmother, and we’ll see what we can do about all of this magic school business.” He rubbed a hand through her hair again. “And you’d better get this sorted out quick or she’ll try to cut all of it off again. You wouldn’t want that when starting a new school, would you?”

Clara grinned and wrapped her arms around her dad, giving him a huge hug. This had gone better than she had hoped! Her dad only knew about the one school, and he’d said _yes_ , and she was going to learn about magic! Maybe someone there _would_ know who her mom was and would help her try and find her wherever it was she had gone. Or at least…. Maybe they’d be able to get a message to her.

She wanted her mom to know that she missed her. She wanted her to know that things were horrible here.

She wanted her to know that she needed to come home.

* * *

When Clara woke up the next morning, she couldn’t help but be nervous. What had her dad said to Elena? When she’d made her plan, it had seemed simple enough, but on thinking it through, she’d realized that Elena was a witch herself, and if _she_ didn’t want Clara to go to the magical school, then there probably wasn’t much Clara – or her father – could do to change her mind.

Elena was silent as Clara walked, bleary eyed, into the kitchen. Clara rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and then pulled open the fridge and poured herself a cup of milk. There hadn’t really been many nice breakfasts since her mom left. If there was anything cooked, it was porridge, not even oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar, just flavorless cold porridge that often sat in an old mottled gray and tasted just as bad as it looked. Sometimes they had cereal, the off-brand kind, but more often than not there were just hard biscuits without butter. Clara was certain that Elena used her magic to make something better – bacon and eggs, maybe, because she could still _smell_ the bacon, even if it was gone by the time she made it into the kitchen – but she never had any real proof. And her dad said she was too young for coffee, even though she was eleven now and could probably handle it just fine.

“I was surprised last night,” Elena began as she sat down at the hard wooden table across from Clara, who continued to munch, feigning half-asleep, on her unbuttered biscuit, “when your father mentioned sending you to a school of _magic_.”

Clara swallowed hard.

“He seemed to think,” she continued with a pleasant little hum, “that there was only _one_ school tucked away somewhere in France.” Her lips pressed together. “I was certain you got another letter, though. It looked like there were _two_ hiding under your pillow yesterday.”

Clara continued to eat her biscuit as though she wasn’t listening to what her wicked stepmother was saying.

“I told him I would feel _much_ better if you went to my old school instead of that _French_ one. I sent an owl inquiring as to whether you’d been accepted, and much to my excitement, _you had_.” Elena grinned and tapped one long nail on the table. “So you will be attending Hogwarts this coming year. I hope that’s not _too_ much of a disappointment to you.”

Clara’s jaw clenched like her father’s had as Elena stood and walked away. As much as she hated her stepmother, and as much as she’d rather have gone to the fancy school, a part of her was still happy. At least she was going to a school of magic at all.

Then she thought to herself – if Hogwarts was Elena’s old school, then how had Beauxbatons found out about her? It was only then that she realized - her mom must have gone to Beauxbatons!

What Elena had done sat even harder in her chest. She was intentionally preventing Clara from finding out about her mother! That—

Clara’s teeth gritted together. She chugged the rest of her glass of milk, only to have her head give a sharp pang of brain freeze. Fine. Fine! She’d go to Hogwarts and she would be the best at magic! And when she was the best at magic, she would show Elena and she would find her mom and she would show her that they had no reason to be afraid at all! And they could be witches together, facing the world! Instead of…whatever it was they were now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming next chapter: LUISA ALVER.


	4. Diagon Alley

Clara had never been to London before.

Truth be told, she’d never been outside of Switzerland before, never been to Britain, never really _wanted_ to. There may have been a certain strange appeal to being in a big city instead of her tiny little town, but she could find big cities _anywhere_ if she looked hard enough. She just needed to be able to get out in the real world more often. But with her father’s carpentry constantly needing him and their lack of money, traveling to a bigger city just wasn’t in the cards.

Sometimes Clara was certain Elena must have been from a bigger city. There was something in the way her stepmother moved and acted, some strange sense of entitlement and rush, that felt like it belonged anywhere other than their quiet little town.

It certainly felt more in place _here_ , in London.

Elena held tight to her hand, dragging her down busy streets and through crowds of people. She ignored Clara’s coughing behind her, too focused on her destination to pay much attention to her stepdaughter. At first, Clara had pulled against her stepmother’s grasp, digging her heels into the ground, but when Elena refused to continue forward without tugging her along, Clara had been forced to accept it, just like she’d been forced to accept a lot of other things about her stepmother that she didn’t quite like.

Clara wished her father had been the one to come with her instead, but he’d needed to work. Besides, as a – what was it Elena had called him? A Muggle? – he wouldn’t know how to get into the alley where the wizarding shops were. Elena could have _told_ him, Clara was sure, but they must have decided that this was easier. Maybe it was. She would just rather spend the day with her father than with this old hag.

The magic of hags notwithstanding.

Elena pulled her sideways so hard that Clara thought her arm might pop out of her socket. She was dragged into a building that looked like a pub, but as Elena dropped her hand, she looked around and noticed that the people inside were wearing robes of all sorts of colors and bright pointed hats! Clara rubbed her shoulder, her eyes widening. Without Elena gripping her hand so tightly, she began to wander around, curious.

“Just one,” she overheard Elena say behind her, leaning one elbow on the counter and resting her head on her hand with a slight tilt.

“You’ve got it,” the man behind the counter said with a deep grumble.

By then, Clara was far enough away from her stepmother that she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She knew better than to try and leave the shop, but she didn’t want to. Somehow they’d traversed from the normal world into the magical one, with no one the wiser, and she was in awe at how easy it was. She walked close to one of the tables to eavesdrop on their conversation. Whatever it was had to be better by far than whatever her stepmother was talking about.

But when she stepped closer, Clara noticed that they were both reading the newspaper – boring! – until, on closer examination, she saw that the pictures seemed to be…moving? Her first impulse was to snatch the paper from the person reading it, but then she saw one abandoned on another table. She ran to it, eagerly snatching it up, and sat on one of the chairs, focusing on the picture in front of her. At first, there didn’t seem to be any difference between it and any other black-and-white picture in the newspaper, but then she noticed a man in the background stretching and covering his yawning mouth.

_Wow._

Clara searched the picture for more people who seemed out of place, who were acting instead of standing still like in all the pictures she’d ever seen, and the more she looked, the more she found. For once, she found herself actually interested in skimming the newspaper and seeing what it had to say, even if it was only to find out what the people in the pictures were supposed to be doing and weren’t.

 _Arthur Weasley Forces The Muggle Protection Act_ caught her eye immediately, much more than the other articles, and after noting that it started on page 4, she flipped to the page—

“Clara.”

The redhead looked up slowly at the sound of her stepmother’s voice and saw her standing there with her arms crossed, one foot tapping on the wooden floor, with a quivering man in a turban standing next to her. Clara looked back to her newspaper and winced.

“What do you think you’re doing with this nice man’s newspaper?”

“He _left_ it. On the table. And the pictures moved!” But it wouldn’t matter what she said. Clara felt like she was explaining herself more to the man whose newspaper she had borrowed than to Elena. “How do they do that?” she asked as she handed the newspaper back to its proper owner.

“There’s a special potion—”

“—which you can learn about at school. In the fall.” Elena grabbed Clara’s hand again, nodding once to the man who was already returning to his newspaper, a mug of something steaming in his other hand. She gave a particularly hard tug, causing Clara to stumble, and then pulled her behind her as she walked out the back door of the pub.

Clara scowled. She wasn’t a child! And there were so many new things that she wished someone would explain to her, but instead of explaining anything, her stepmother was just pulling and tugging her and trying to rush through everything. Just because school would teach her _some_ things didn’t mean it would teach her everything! ...although if it taught her how to make her pictures move, then that was all the better.

Elena dragged her in front of what appeared to be nothing more than a brick wall and then dropped Clara’s hand again. “Stay put,” she ordered, although Clara couldn’t see anything great about a brick wall in the middle of nowhere. But then her stepmother pulled out a long thin stick – not as long as the one Clara remembered her mom having, but much thicker – and she realized that it must be a wand! Her eyes widened, and while she doubted it, she hoped that she would see her stepmother do some sort of magic.

She was not disappointed.

Elena tapped the tip of her wand on what appeared to be a random brick in the wall, and all of a sudden, the wall split open, pulling apart into a huge arch like the sort they had in her little town back home. Clara’s eyes were so focused on the people on the other side of the wall that she didn’t notice her stepmother hiding her wand again.

“Where do I get one of those?” Clara asked as Elena grabbed her hand again.

“Ollivander’s,” Elena replied with a scowl. “It’ll be our first stop, so we don’t have to deal with long lines of inept children.”

“We’re not all _inept_ ,” Clara muttered under her breath, and then she looked up to see if Elena caught it. But her stepmother seemed to be more focused on the people around them than on whatever Clara was saying, which was nice. It gave Clara leave to look around even as she was dragged through crowds of people with robes of every color and large pointed hats looming large on their heads.

There were women haggling in front of a large copper cauldron over what looked to be a dead rat (although she couldn’t be quite certain that’s what it was). As they passed, she caught a snatch of _It wouldn’t cost this much in Hogsmeade, even if it was **fresh**!_ What looked like little troll-like figures embossed in gold loomed in front of a huge building like a mansion. One of the shops seemed to be overflowing with books (every shopping district had to have a bookstore, she guessed). And just past the troll building, everything seemed to grow dark.

Elena didn’t take her to that dark place, though. Instead, she pulled her to a store that seemed as though it was built entirely from dust. Clara was certain that there were wooden columns holding up the sign – _Ollivander’s_ – which she was equally certain was embossed with wood, but dust covered the entire building. It didn’t seem gritty or grimy, just _old_. There were birds’ nests hidden in some of the sign’s letters – particularly the large _O_ with what appeared to be the largest nest, full of little chirping chicks. As Clara stared up at it, what looked to be a large white owl swooped down and curled over top of the chicks, hiding itself.

The door was partly open before Clara noticed the hooked nosed man standing outside and appearing to watch curiously through one of the windows. She caught his dark eyes as the bell overhead tingled their appearance, and it was only then that he spoke.

“Elena di Nola,” the man said, his voice long but not drawling. “How fortunate to be meeting you here today.”

Elena stopped. She straightened and let the door close on one curled finger, and when she turned back, the smile on her face was unlike anything Clara had ever seen before. She couldn’t tell if it was _happy_ or _fake_ or some mixture of the two. We might even call it **pained**.

“Severus,” she murmured, and her voice was almost warm if not for the biting chill beneath it. “I didn’t know they let professors out so close to the beginning of the year. Don’t you have classes to prepare for?”

_A professor!_

Clara’s bright eyes widened, and she was suddenly much more interested in the man than she had been before. Unlike most of the other witches and wizards they passed, he wasn’t wearing a hat over his greasy black hair, but while this had initially made the others seem more wondrous and powerful, the lack of one made him seem more intimidating, more authoritative. His skin was waxy pale, and she thought of the vampires her mother had mentioned when she’d read to her from that book of old stories. But when he spoke, there were no fangs, so she decided he couldn’t be one of those. It never occurred to her that the school likely wouldn’t employ vampires. Maybe it would! She didn’t know!

Except that vampires obviously didn't exist, so he couldn't be a vampire. That was foolish.

“My classes have been ready for months.” Severus watched them with his hands templed together, and although he maintained full attention on Elena, every now and again his dark eyes would shift to Clara. They did so now. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“Stepdaughter,” Elena corrected. “I found a family in Switzerland.”

“The Muggle.” There was clear disdain in Severus’s voice, a contempt as though he would spit the words out if he were so allowed. “I’d heard rumors, but I’d hoped they weren’t true.”

“Yes, well.” Elena’s voice spoke discomfort even though her position didn’t change – no shuffling of feet, no attempt to feign a better feeling. “They’re true.” Her head tilted ever so slightly to one side, and she pushed Clara forward, finally dropping her hand again. “Clara,” she bent down and spoke softly into her ear, “ _this_ is Severus Snape, the potions professor at Hogwarts and head of Slytherin, my old house.”

Clara felt a chill down her spine at the mention of Elena’s house, even if she didn’t quite know what that meant. Maybe it was something of a connection between the two, even though it was clear to her that Elena and this Severus fellow didn’t really seem to get along. She stepped forward, hands tightening into little fists.

“Severus, this is Clara Ruvelle.”

The professor’s eyes seemed to flash at the mention of Clara’s last name, but it was slight if there was anything there at all. He met Elena’s eyes. “Did you find _her_ , too?”

“No.”

Severus’s eyes returned to Clara briefly. “I take it you will be coming to Hogwarts this fall.” But as he spoke, his gaze returned to Elena, one brow arching.

“Yes, and _that_ ,” Elena started, reaching forward as though to grab Clara’s arm again, “is why we’re here.”

Clara avoided her grasp and crossed her arms. “You don’t have to drag me everywhere,” she said, her blue eyes flicking to Severus and then back again. “I’m not gonna run off.”

Elena smiled, but her teeth gritted together. “We’re in a hurry, Clara, dear.” Her voice was tense, and she opened the door again. The bell tingled overhead once more as she gestured for Clara to go into the wand shop. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

Clara frowned and then straightened her shoulders. “It was nice to meet you,” she said to the professor.

“ _Clara._ ”

But she waited to get a nod from the professor before she turned and entered the shop. Another little girl with brown hair so dark it was almost black twisted into a tight little braid pushed past Elena as they entered, and Clara stared at her and the wand held tight in her little hands. She watched as the girl went to meet the professor where he stood outside and looked up at him greedily. Then Elena took her hand and pulled her away from the door, pushing her in front of her.

“ _Stop it._ ” Clara rubbed her arm once as though that would make her feel any better. Then she looked around at boxes upon boxes of wands. Most of them were covered with dust, although there seemed to be tracks along some of them as though a bored child had traced designs into it. The thought made Clara smile until she remembered who she was with, and she just as quickly dropped the expression.

“Elena di Nola,” a voice said from behind the counter, and Clara turned to face him, wondering if _everyone_ was going to talk to her stepmother by calling her by her full name or if that was just a weird wizarding world thing she didn’t know about yet. “I still remember your wand – ebony, phoenix feather, 12 ½ inches.” His gaze wandered to Clara. “And I take it this is your—”

“—stepdaughter, yes,” Elena said before the mistake could be made again.

“Interesting,” the man murmured. “Very interesting.” He stroked his chin once, and Clara was afraid that it would fall away at the touch.

“Clara, this is Mr. Ollivander.” Elena moved her hands to Clara’s shoulders, holding her in place. “He is one of the best wandmakers in all the world.” She didn’t look down to Clara as she introduced her, instead focusing entirely on the ancient wizard before her. “Some say he is the very best.”

Clara looked up at the wandmaker with curious blue eyes and shrugged off her stepmother’s hands. “How do you know what kind of wands to make?”

“A lot of practice,” Ollivander said as he came out from behind the counter. “And sometimes the wands turn out to be completely different than I had planned.” He crouched down in front of Clara so that he was just at her height, and he seemed even more old and weathered than the building in which they’d found him. His hair might’ve been white, but it felt just as haphazard as the owl’s nest in the big _O_ outside. “I think,” he tapped his forehead with one long finger, “that they each have a mind of their own. The wand chooses the wizard, after all, not the other way around.”

Ollivander looked up at Elena and tilted his head towards the one rickety, empty seat in a corner of the shop. “Feel free to sit while I help your stepdaughter.”

Elena moved away, leaving Clara in the care of the shopkeeper, and dusted off the chair as much as she could before sitting. Her eyes rested on her stepdaughter as she waited.

Clara let out a little huff and focused entirely on Ollivander. “So how do you know which wand wants me?”

“Sometimes we start with measurements,” he said, pulling out a measuring tape, “and sometimes we decide based on what we know of your history.” Ollivander began to measure Clara from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. “Which arm is your wand arm?”

“Wand arm?”

Ollivander smiled. “Do you play outside, Clara?”

Clara opened her mouth to speak then just as quickly snapped it shut. She didn’t want Elena knowing what she did when her stepmother wasn’t around. “I used to,” she said hesitantly. “My mom used to take me out to play all the time. Sometimes we would sword fight, but I’m older than that now.”

“Ah,” Ollivander murmured. “Which arm did you hold your sword in?”

“My right,” Clara said, lifting her arm.

“Then that will likely be your wand arm.” But even as he said that, Ollivander moved to measure both of her arms, as though it didn’t matter which one was which. “Were either of your parents witches or wizards?”

“My dad’s a…a…whatever the word is for non-magical.”

“Muggle.”

“Yeah, that one.” Clara scowled. She didn’t want to say it. The word sounded nasty, although less so when Mr. Ollivander said it. “But my mom was a witch, I think. She seemed pretty magical the last time I saw her. I think she even had a wand.”

“What was your mother’s name?” Ollivander asked. “Do you remember?”

Clara’s eyes flicked to Elena briefly and then returned to the wandmaker. “Marie,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Marie Ruvelle.” Her gaze returned to Elena long enough to see if there was any sort of reaction, but there wasn’t anything she could see, except for maybe a twitch at one corner of her lips.

Ollivander’s head tilted to one side as he rolled his tape measure back up and placed it on the counter. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“Oh.” Clara looked down at her little red hightops and shuffled them back and forth once, her hands gripping into tight little fists. “Maybe she got her wand from someone else.”

“Maybe she did.” Ollivander stood back up and brushed his hands across what appeared to be something of an apron, although it was unlike the ones her mother used to wear in the bakery. He looked towards Elena, who still sat with one leg crossed over the other, and then turned back to Clara. “Come with me, child. I think I know just what we want for you.” He started towards the back of the shop.

Clara didn’t hesitate or turn back to her stepmother. Instead, she eagerly followed the wandmaker down aisles towards the back of his shop – aisles that seemed to grow thinner the further back they went until even Clara, scrawny as she was, had to walk sideways to follow him. The walls hadn’t grown closer together, she was sure, but there were so many boxes upon boxes of wands covered with dust and some with white spots from old age or maybe even mold that she felt that if she hit them just wrong she would make them all topple! She was looking around at the boxes when she almost ran straight into Mr. Ollivander, who had stopped abruptly. Then he turned around in the small space to face her with two boxes in his hands and a sparkle in his eyes.

“It’s time to go back.”

Clara nodded once and carefully turned herself back around. She walked back through the maze of wand boxes until she was somewhere they parted just enough for her and Mr. Ollivander to look at each other. He placed a hand on her shoulder then, and she stopped and turned back to him, her blue eyes wide. “Why’re we stopping?”

“You do not trust your stepmother very much, do you?” Ollivander asked.

“No,” Clara said immediately. “She’s not my real mother, and she doesn’t even try. She drags me around everywhere.” She rubbed her wrist where it ached from being tugged here and there. “I don’t like her.”

“So you don’t want her to know what your wand is made of, do you?”

Clara stopped, her mouth open wide. She shut it almost immediately and shook her head. “Does she not have to know?”

“Indeed, she does not,” Ollivander said, “and in this case, I think it preferential that she does not.” He bent down to face level with Clara again. “Now, these two wands are both from my earliest years of wandmaking, and they both use a particular type of wood that is better loved in another part of the world. Their cores and lengths, however, are different, and while I think you’ll likely end up with one of these, I cannot decide which wand would best fit you.”

Clara’s brow furrowed, and she pressed her lips together in a thin little line. “I thought you said the wand chooses and not the wizard.”

“You are quite right.” Ollivander smiled. “If you were to guess, just from looking at them,” and he drew back the boxes so that each of the wands slid out just enough for her to touch them, “which one do you think would choose you?”

Clara looked at the ends of the two wands and pointed to the one on the right. She didn’t know why, but something about it _called_ to her. Ollivander held the box out to her, and she took hold of the wand, pulling it the rest of the way out of the box. It was a dark, reddish wood with flower buds at its handle and a deep, darker gash embedded from the handle all the way to its tip. As she held it, all of a sudden she felt warm, and a soft amber light seemed to emanate from where she touched it. She took a deep breath and looked back up at Mr. Ollivander. “Did I choose right?”

“Yes, my dear,” he said with that same twinkle in his eyes. “Rosewood, dragon heartstring, 11 ½ inches. _Very pliable._ I thought it might choose you.”

“How did you know?” Clara asked as he took her wand and slowly boxed it up again.

“Your red hair and freckles tipped me off.” Ollivander carefully placed the other box on one of the other stacks as he stood, handing the box with Clara’s wand in it back to her. “Now, let’s go tell your stepmother that you’ve found your wand.”

* * *

Only a few moments later (along with a sharp glare from her stepmother when Elena learned that the truth of Clara’s wand wouldn’t be revealed to her as easily as the truth of her own had been revealed to Clara) and they were back on the streets again. Clara held her wand tight in her hands, refusing to let her stepmother carry it, and now that she had a wand of her own, Elena seemed less intent on dragging her one way or the other through the crowded streets. They went quickly from one building to another, from the wand shop to one full of potions supplies. While she was there, a few of the witches and wizards seemed to peer at her curiously, and she saw two of them whispering together. Clara wanted to get closer to hear what was being said, but as soon as she edged in their direction, Elena gave her another sharp look, one that said if she wandered off too far she’d be dragged down the streets again. As much as Clara wanted to hear what they were saying, she valued her freedom more.

The streets were even more crowded once they left the shop with the potions ingredients. Clara looked left and right for the professor and the girl who was traveling with him, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t see them anywhere. And the more crowded it became, the more she thought that it was unlikely she would. He wasn’t a particularly _tall_ man, and given all of the shops, they could be anywhere. Worse, with so many men and women in pointed hats around them, it made it extremely hard to pick out someone _without_ a hat.

Then, all of a sudden, _and she didn’t know just how it was done_ , there was the smallest utterance of _“Mama?”_ and, as they passed, a little child with black hair stopped, even as his father tried to pull him forward the same way Elena tried to pull her away. The child seemed to peer at Elena a little closer. She didn’t notice him or hear him, so when he cried _“Mama!”_ again and ran towards her, Clara barely had time to look at her stepmother’s face before the little boy tackled her legs.

Elena’s face froze. She winced as the boy grabbed her, but the pained expression disappeared as she turned around to face him. “Is that Rafael I hear?” Elena looked down at the boy around her legs and kneeled to pick him up. He buried his head in her neck, and when she kissed his forehead, he giggled.

Clara had no idea what was happening. She was even more confused when a bald man – who she suspected was the boy’s father – walked up to them with his face contorted into a scowl. He was followed by a girl who looked to be about her age already dressed in black robes and with a letter of her own curled up in her hands.

“Elena,” the man said, his voice dark.

“Emilio, _darling_ ,” Elena began, and her voice was silky smooth in a way that Clara had never heard it take before. “I didn’t expect you to be here today. I figured you and Luisa would have finished your shopping by now.” There was a thick line of steel beneath her words, one that Clara knew well, but she’d never needed to decorate it with such sticky sweetness before. Nor had Clara ever seen Elena deal with any child the way she dealt with the boy in her arms now, the one she had called Rafael.

The other girl perked up at the mention of her name, and it was then that her brown eyes met Clara’s blue ones. Clara blinked once, and the other girl waved at her with a big grin.

“Luisa said there was someone she wanted to meet here today,” the man, who must have been Emilio, replied. He glanced down to his daughter. “That _is_ what you said, dear, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Luisa beamed at Clara.

Clara’s eyes shifted away from her for a bit and then returned only to see that Luisa’s gaze had not left her at all. If it were anyone else, it might have been creepy, and given that Emilio apparently already knew Elena _and_ that Rafael seemed to be referring to her stepmother as his mother, Clara _did_ feel a little bit odd. But something about the other girl’s smile made that little bit feel better.

As the two adults continued to talk, Luisa stepped over to Clara and held out her empty hand. “I’m Luisa. _Alver._ It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Clara noticed that she had an American accent, and she wanted to ask but felt that it probably wasn’t any of her business. “Clara Ruvelle,” she murmured, taking the other girl’s hand in her own. It was warm, or maybe she was just cold. “How do you know my stepmother? And what do you mean _finally_? And who are you supposed to be meeting? Wouldn’t you have just met them in that pub you have to go through to get here?”

Luisa laughed, a bright sound. “You ask as many questions as I do.”

Clara blushed furiously. “There’s nothing wrong with asking questions if you need to figure stuff out.”

“No, there’s not.” Luisa let her hand drop. “Do you wanna go somewhere else?” she asked, leaning closer to her. “They’re gonna argue for a while, and Raf isn’t going to want to leave.”

Clara looked away, up at Elena, and frowned. “I don’t think my stepmother will like that.”

“Do you care?” Luisa asked, and she skipped off without even looking back to see if Clara was following her.

Clara knew immediately that she liked this girl. She followed her without saying anything to Elena. It wasn’t hard for them to make their way through the crowd, fitting through the little spaces where only children such as themselves could fit. Luisa came to a stop near one of the stores where Clara hadn’t gone yet. Then she took Clara’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I always liked the pet shop,” she said with a smile. “Daddy got me an owl for my birthday last year so that I could send him and Raf letters from school, but I still like looking.” She gave Clara a bright smile. “Do you want to go in?”

“Yes, please,” Clara said, and she gave Luisa’s hand an echoing squeeze. “I saw an owl over Ollivander’s shop when I got my wand. I didn’t know they flew in the day, except when my letters arrived.”

“Letters?” Luisa asked as they headed toward the shop. “You got more than one?”

Clara nodded. “Yeah. One from Hogwarts, which is where I’m going, and one from…from Beauxbatons. I don’t know what the difference is, but Elena wants me at Hogwarts.”

“Well, I go there!” Luisa exclaimed with a bright grin. “This is my second year. Is it your first?” She released Clara’s hand just long enough to open the door for her, but Clara took it again when they walked into the shop.

“It is—” Clara started to say, but her voice faded and she came to a complete stop when she saw all of the owls. Her eyes widened, and she looked from one end to the other. She’d barely seen any owls at all in her entire life before the two that had arrived with her letters, although she might’ve seen one or two when she was younger and her mother still lived with them. Even then, the owls she’d seen when she’d gotten her letters hadn’t stayed very long at all, flying off almost immediately, but here there were what must have been hundreds of different owls in all sorts of cages. Some of them – alright, _most_ of them – appeared to be sleeping with their heads tucked under their wings, but as the doorbell dinged, a few of them looked up with bleary, blinking black eyes, heads swiveling to see who the new arrivals were.

“ _Wow._ ”

It was all Clara could think to say, and she wasn’t even thinking when she said it. She took a deep breath, and as she did, a bright smile lit up her face. “These are—these are _pets_?” she whispered to Luisa, her voice holding the same awe and wonder that her expression did. “You said they send letters for you? And you…you _have_ one? Like, just for you? _You have a pet owl?_ ”

Luisa giggled at her questions. “Yes, they’re pets! I have one named Agatha! She’s a…a _bare-legged_ owl is I think what she’s called – she’s very small and brown and has these great brown eyes and little white spots all over her feathers and sometimes when she comes back from hunting they look almost _silver_. She’s so pretty.”

“Wow,” was all Clara could say again. She looked away, back at the owls, and she started to walk through the mess of them, just looking through the cages. “They’re so beautiful.”

“Maybe Elena will let you have one,” Luisa said, even though her tone indicated just how much she thought that was a longshot. “So that you can send letters back home to you and your father.”

Clara shook her head and stopped in front of one cage, where a large owl with golden feathers was hiding its white face beneath its large right wing. She reached through and brushed a finger along its great wing, and the great bird shuddered for a moment before poking its head out and staring at her with large black eyes. “I wish I could take you home with me,” she murmured.

The owl just hid its head under its wing again.

“C’mon,” Luisa said after a few minutes, tapping the table under the owl’s cage and then slipping something into her pocket. “They don’t just have owls here. There are cats and rats and toads and all sorts of other animals.”

Clara didn’t really want to see the others, too enamored with the gorgeous owl in front of her, but she let Luisa lead her away from it. “What’s Hogwarts like?” she asked, finally, as they stopped in front of a room full of cats, most of which seemed to be napping.

“It’s unlike anything I’d ever seen before,” Luisa said, and she held the door to the cat room open for Clara to go in. They had to sneak in very quickly so as not to let a little black kitten out, and as soon as the door was shut, it curled and weaved between their legs, mewling for attention. Luisa scooped it up in her arms and brushed her fingers through its soft fur. “Mom had taken me to some of the wizarding schools in America before, but they’re a lot more….” She stopped, her lips pressed together, her head tilted to one side as she searched for the right word. “They’re all a lot the same,” she finally settled on. “But there’s no place quite like Hogwarts.”

“What are the American schools like?” Clara asked. She sat in one of the wooden chairs, moving a cat from its resting place as she did. Once she was settled, the cat jumped back in her lap and curled up again, its tail just long enough to reach the tip of its little black nose. “And why did your mom take you to them? Did you always know about magic? I only found out right before my mom left.”

The admittance stopped her rambling, and Clara shifted so that she was sitting on her hands. The cat in her lap poked its head up so that it could stare at her with large golden eyes, and while it didn’t mewl like the black cat in Luisa’s arms had, Clara knew that it expected her to pet it for so unjustly moving it and waking it up. Clara shifted enough to pull out one hand and brush her fingers through the cat’s short, greasy fur.

“My mom,” Luisa started, and she stopped almost immediately with a wistful look on her face. “She used to go to a lot of schools when I was a kid. She gave these big huge talks, and she always took me with her! But I didn’t really stay awake through them. They were long and boring.” But she sounded more sad than she did annoyed. “The American schools are a lot of brick and metal. I mean, Hogwarts has a bunch of that, too, but Hogwarts just _feels_ magical! The American schools all feel _tired_.” Then Luisa giggled. “Or maybe I was just tired when I was at them!”

“Did you _always_ know about magic?” Clara repeated, big blue eyes watching the darker-skinned girl sitting next to her.

Luisa’s head tilted to one side, and she paused to think so long that the little black kitten in her arms nipped at her fingers for not petting it. “I guess so,” she said, slowly, placing the kitten on her lap. “I don’t ever remember a time I didn’t.” She bit her lower lip, as though about to ask a question, and then seemed to think better of it. “We’re a wizarding family, though. You’ve got Elena now, and you said your mom left?”

“Yeah. My mom had magic!” Clara said with a grin on her face. “So I must have got it from her! I’ve never seen my dad do anything with it, and he was really confused when he saw the school letter.”

“I thought you said you had letters?”

Clara’s eyes widened, and she blushed so bad that she was certain her freckles would disappear. “I only showed my dad the one. I didn’t want to go to Hogwarts. I thought if I went to Beauxbatons someone there might know my mother.” Her lips pressed together. “The writing looked really pretty and fancy, and it’s a lot closer to where I live. And if Elena went to Hogwarts, then my mom must’ve gone there.”

“What happened with your mom?” Luisa asked then, her voice very soft. “Why did she leave?”

When Clara looked up, she didn’t see anything mean or intrusive in Luisa’s face, only concern and curiosity. She looked down again as she pet the cat in her lap, and she brushed an idle curl out of her face. But just when she opened her mouth to explain, the door to the cat room they were in slammed open! The cat in Clara’s lap jumped up and ran away, hiding in one of the cat enclosures, but the one in Luisa’s lap appeared to stay. A second glance, however, told Clara that the black kitten was just as terrified as hers had been. It had just responded by digging its claws into Luisa’s legs instead of jumping up and running.

“ _Clara Rose Ruvelle._ ”

Clara turned to see her stepmother standing behind her. She gave her a grin with a sheepish look. “Yes, ma’am?”

Elena stalked toward her, the door slamming shut behind her, and grabbed Clara by the wrist again, pulling her up out of the seat. "Don’t you _ever_ run away from me again.” Her grip tightened on Clara’s wrist, and Clara tried not to wince but couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t hurt her!” Luisa exclaimed, and she stood up, picking the black kitten up and holding it carefully in one hand. But with all the excitement and the loud noises, the cat no longer wanted to stay with her, and Luisa couldn’t help but also wince as the kitten dug its claws into her shoulder as it climbed up and over, jumping down her back and scampering away.

Elena’s dark gaze moved slowly from Clara to Luisa, and her lips spread into an all too easy sneer. “Your father is looking for _you_ , too.”

“He knows where to find me,” Luisa said, and as though to confirm her comment, there was Luisa’s father, standing on the other side of the door, Rafael in tow.

As he opened it, Elena quickly dropped her tight grip on Clara’s wrist and offered him a much gentler but somehow still menacing smile. “They’re here.”

Clara shoved the box holding her wand under her arm and then rubbed her wrist. She didn’t know why people did that. It didn’t really help. She ignored what Elena and Luisa’s father were talking about – them, probably some niceties, nothing really important – and looked instead to Luisa, giving her a bemused smile.

“I’m sorry about getting you into trouble,” Luisa said, gaze dropping.

“It’s okay.”

Elena grabbed Clara’s wrist again – looser this time, but it still _hurt_ against where she’d gripped it so tightly before – and pulled her towards her. “We have other shopping we need to do. It was nice to see the both of you.” She gave Luisa a bared teeth expression that softened into a smile as she turned back to Emilio. Then she ruffled a hand through Rafael’s hair. “And it was especially nice to see _you_ again.” She turned back to Emilio as she moved past them. “You take care of him now.”

Clara was only able to see the gritted teeth scowl on Luisa’s father’s face before Elena tugged her away, and she tried to freeze the grin on Luisa’s face in her mind as she waved at her. At least now she knew that she might have a friend at Hogwarts when she got there, instead of being alone. And, better still, her new friend already knew all about magic. As Elena continued to drag her out of the pet store, Clara wondered if everyone going to her new school would know about the magical world or if there would be anyone else like her who didn’t know about it at all until they got their letters.

She continued to hold her wand tight against her side as she and Elena continued to shop, getting the rest of the things on her list. Eventually, Elena forced her to carry her other purchases, too. There was never any discussion of whether or not Clara might get an owl the same way Luisa had; she knew better than to even bring it up after that fiasco. Then, as Clara reached the end of her letter and the long list of supplies she needed to get for her first year, Elena took her in another direction entirely, her eyes shifting among the other witches and wizards before she took one last turn.

The alleyway they entered now was darker. It wasn’t just a visual thing, either; Clara could feel the darkness seeping into her skin. She shivered. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere important.”

But Elena continued to drag her down the alleyway. There were less people here, so there was less risk of bumping into anyone else, but that didn’t necessarily make Clara feel any better. If anything, it just made her feel more uneasy. Still, she followed her stepmother, not wanting to know what would happen if she tried to get away again (and she wasn’t sure she could with all of her supplies because everything was so heavy).

They stopped in front of a shop titled Borgin and Burkes, and Clara shivered again. Elena turned to her. “I have something to do inside. You stay right here."

Under normal circumstances, Clara would try to go inside it anyway and see what all Elena wanted that she _didn’t_ want Clara to see. If she wasn’t doing that, she’d be using the time to get away. But the look of the building in front of her – all gloom and doom and like something straight out of a horror movie – stopped her. It didn’t _scare_ her, obviously, because Clara prided herself on being very brave, but if she didn’t _have_ to go inside, then she didn’t _want_ to go inside. Not this building. And although she could try to run away again, Clara didn’t want to get lost in the darker alleys that seemed to be spreading from this one. She just gave Elena a firm little nod and watched as her stepmother went inside the shop.

Unfortunately, after Elena was gone, Clara realized there weren’t any nice little benches for her to sit on or anything like that. She knocked her sneakered feet together and shuffled her bags from one hand to the other. There were too many to really move them around, and they were so heavy her arms began to grow quite sore. Elena’s constant tugging and pulling hadn’t helped either; her right shoulder and wrist hurt just from Elena’s constant grip more than they did from the bags.

After a few minutes of standing there, a man with long blond hair and the same sneering expression Clara had grown used to seeing on Elena’s face came into view. A young boy who looked to be about Clara’s age followed along behind him. The boy had the same shock of platinum blond hair on the top of his head as the man did, so Clara guessed they were related. She’d bring a hand up to wave if they weren’t both so full. On noticing her, the man’s expression changed to one of disgust, and he went into the store without another word. The boy, however, looked up just enough to meet Clara’s eyes. She gave him her brightest grin, and he lifted a hand, bent a couple of fingers in a half-hearted wave, and then followed the man inside the shop.

Well, _that_ wasn’t fair! How come _he_ got to go inside and _she_ didn’t?

Clara scowled, and she started to follow them inside the shop. As soon as she started forward, though, Elena walked out, putting a carefully wrapped package into her purse. Clara’s eyes widened – she wanted to know what _that_ was! – but she acted as though she hadn’t seen anything. When Elena looked up and saw her standing there, her brows raised. “You didn’t run off.”

“You told me not to.”

Elena started walking away, expecting Clara to follow her, and Clara gave the creepy shop one last long look before going with her stepmother. “Now what?” she asked, trying her best to keep up with all of her packages on her short little legs. “Are there other shops? I’ve got all my stuff.”

“Now,” Elena said, still not turning back to Clara, “we go back home, and in a few short weeks, you go off to Hogwarts.”

To Clara, it sounded more like Elena said _I get rid of you_ , but she didn’t say anything about that. She decided it was best not to try to get her stepmother into another conversation, and as they made their way from the alley into the bigger, brighter street and then from that street back to the pub, Clara couldn’t help but be excited for her new magical school. Sure, a part of her still wished she was going to Beauxbatons, and she didn’t like that last store Elena was in, but the other people she’d met seemed okay. The potions professor she met didn’t seem to like her stepmother, and that was _great_ in her book. And Luisa had been nothing but nice.

So maybe going to Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	5. Within the Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR NOT POSTING THIS AT THE USUAL TIME. I LITERALLY FORGOT. STILL GETTING IT UP ON MONDAY, THOUGH, SO STILL MONDAY UPDATE. SORRY.

Another month passed with no serious dispute. It wasn’t _good_ by any means, but Clara knew how to live with Elena and her moods. Mostly that meant staying away from her as much as possible during the day. She liked staying at the riverbank when she could, but Elena had started keeping Clara closer to her than she had before. Unfortunately, this led to a lot of bickering and arguing and Clara being sent to her room without supper, but she got used to that, too. And when the time finally came for her to leave, Clara knew that her dad was ready for her to be gone just as much as she was.

The day she was meant to leave, Clara shuffled into the living room with her head lowered, curls just touching her shoulders, red sneakers knocking together. “Elena says it’s time to go.”

Her dad sat in his big chair, bottle dangling between his fingertips. He looked up with bloodshot eyes and blinked a couple of times as he tried to focus on Clara. “Then you should go with her.”

“I’m gonna be gone a long time.”

That seemed to break through the fog. Her dad stood, dropped the bottle to the side of his chair, and took a hesitant step towards her. For a minute, Clara was afraid, but when her dad got to her, he wrapped his arms around her.

At first, Clara didn’t know how to respond, but eventually she wrapped her arms around him, too, and buried her head in his chest.

Her dad kissed her forehead gently and then stepped back, patting her shoulder a couple of times. “You’re going to be just fine.” He grinned, and it seemed like he was his old self again. “You’re going to go learn at that magic school, and then you’ll come back and be able to show us everything you learned.”

_I’m so proud of you._

He didn’t say it, and she didn’t hear it, and she didn’t _feel_ it either. Clara knew how her father felt about her magic, knew that he didn’t really care _what_ she learned so long as she knew how to keep it all hidden better. But she was certain the school would teach her that, too. If Mr. Ollivander was anything to go by, no one there knew her mom. But maybe, just maybe, someone would.

“Clara,” Elena barked, glaring at her. “We need to go. _Now._ ”

Clara nodded once and thought about giving her dad another hug but didn’t. “I’ll…I’ll see you later.”

“Sure you will.”

Her dad went back to his chair and slumped into it. As Clara passed him, he grabbed her shoulder once, giving it a gentle squeeze. Then she was through the door and with Elena, and then she was gone.

* * *

Some strange mixture of excitement and nervousness trembled through Clara as she and Elena entered the train station. She gripped her wand in one hand and her train ticket even tighter in the other, and she kept reading the platform number over and over – 9 ¾. Her eyes flicked to the platforms, but she didn’t worry about not seeing hers. It must be another magical portal, just like the entrance to Diagon Alley had been! So instead of worrying about finding her way, she kept close to her stepmother with her trunk full of supplies, waiting for another exciting tapping of bricks or wand waving.

But Elena came to a sudden stop near one of the walls separating platforms nine and ten. Her head turned this way and that, as though checking to see if anyone was paying attention. When no one seemed to be, she placed her hand on Clara’s back and walked steadily towards the wall, shoving Clara in front of her. Clara tried to squirm out of her stepmother’s grip, but nothing worked, until finally it seemed like she was going to run smack dab into the wall! She shut her eyes as the wall approached—

Nothing happened.

Elena moved her hand from Clara’s back, and Clara opened her eyes to see an entire other train station and an entire other train, this one surrounded by people in cloaks and hats just like there had been when they’d gone to shop for her school supplies. She took a sharp breath in as she saw the platform number – 9 ¾, just like on her ticket! She couldn’t help but grin.

Then Elena grabbed Clara’s wrist again and tugged her over to one side, away from the crowd. She dragged her trunk over and stopped in an abandoned section of the platform. Then she placed one finger beneath Clara’s chin, lifting it so that the small girl was looking up into her eyes.

“At Hogwarts,” Elena said, her voice hushed, “you will be separated into one of four houses. Whatever you do, however you do it, you _must_ be sorted into Slytherin.”

The name sounded weird to Clara, but she recognized it as the one Elena had mentioned in Diagon Alley – the name of _her_ house, the one that professor was head of. She knew better than to tell her stepmother _no_ straight out. But how was she to make sure she got into that house? She couldn’t help but scowl. “What happens if I’m not?”

Elena’s brows raised, and a cruel smile slid across her lips. “What do you think?”

Clara had seen that look on her stepmother’s face far too many times to count. It was the face she wore whenever Clara returned from the riverbank covered in mud, the face she wore when she’d been unable to brush through Clara’s tangled curls and instead had tried to shave them completely off. Those, of course, were smaller rebellions, unintended ones. She couldn’t imagine what Elena would do if she did something so horrible as to not get into Slytherin, and she didn’t want to find out.

At the determined look on her face, Elena’s smile disappeared, and she turned back towards the train. “Here,” she said, shoving the cart with Clara’s trunk in it to her. “You’d better get on the train before it leaves without you.”

Clara gasped. Would it really do that? She didn’t want to find _that_ out either.

Immediately, Clara took the cart and ran from her stepmother. The cart rattled and shook as she pushed it towards the train, and it stopped with a final shudder as she made it there. She took a deep breath and then looked around to see what the other kids were doing with their trunks. Just lifting them and carrying them on? How could they do that when the trunks were so heavy with all of their things? A couple of the other kids seemed to be using their wands to make the trunks float in the air behind them, but she didn’t know how to do that. Following the other kids’ lead, she tried to lift her trunk and found that it was surprisingly light.

It must be more magic! The thought brought the grin back to her face, and it stayed there as Clara picked her single trunk up and carried it onto the train. She dragged it behind her as she walked down the aisle, looking for a compartment to sit in. Most of them were full of other students in groups of three or four talking among themselves. Some of them were older. _Most_ of them were older. She didn’t really feel like sitting with any of them, though.

Halfway down the train, after she’d stopped looking for someone to sit with and had started looking for empty compartments instead, Clara heard a familiar voice calling her name. She looked around left and right but didn’t see anyone. Just as she started forward again, she heard that voice and her name – _“Clara!”_ – and turned to see none other than Luisa, the girl she’d met when she and Elena had been shopping. Luisa stood halfway out of her compartment and gestured for Clara to join her, so Clara walked back to her.

Luisa’s compartment seemed to be completely empty of anyone other than herself. When Clara got inside, Luisa helped her hide her trunk above her seat. Then Luisa sat on one side and Clara sat on the other. Luisa had a bright grin on her face. “How have you been?” she asked. “Are you excited for your first year?”

Clara opened her mouth to speak – there was so much she wanted to say and a lot she was afraid of – but as she did, a girl with bushy brown hair peeked in and breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve been _ages_ looking for an empty seat,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all!” Luisa said, and she jumped up to help the girl lift her trunk above the seat. The two of them had significantly more trouble than they’d had with Clara’s, so she eventually got up and helped them, too. This girl’s trunk was _heavy_. Once they were done, they sat back down again, the new girl next to Luisa and Clara across from them.

The bushy-haired girl sat up straight. “I’m Hermione Granger,” she said, her voice very matter-of-fact. “I’m a first year.”

“Oh, another first year!” Luisa exclaimed. “Here,” she said, and she stood up again. “Switch spots with me and take the window seat. You’re going to want to see everything!”

“ _Another_ first year?” Hermione asked as they quickly switched seats. Her eyes moved to Clara, who now sat directly across from her. “Are you a first year, too?”

Clara nodded once. “Clara Ruvelle,” she said, holding out her hand, and Hermione took it with a firm shake. Clara tilted her head over to her friend. “And this is Luisa.”

“ _Alver_ ,” Luisa said, a bright grin on her face. “Luisa Alver. This is my second year.” She grabbed Hermione’s hand with both of her own and gave it a very hardy shake.

Hermione took in Luisa’s appearance, and Clara couldn’t help but wonder what she was looking for. Probably she was confused by Luisa’s American accent. Finally, Hermione asked, “What house are you in?”

“Hufflepuff,” Luisa answered, her grin not fading. “My dad was in Slytherin, but we both knew there was no way I’d end up in there. He thought I might be in Ravenclaw, but! I’m in Hufflepuff.” She gave a little shrug. “He was _a little_ disappointed, but I think my mom’s happy with it.” Her grin faded a little bit, but it snapped back almost immediately.

It was the one thing Clara understood in that whole conversation, other than the mention of Slytherin. She could feel her heart drop a little bit at learning that Luisa was in a different house. She had hoped that she could be sorted into wherever Luisa was because then she’d have a friend already there with her, but if she was going to get into Slytherin like Elena wanted, that meant they wouldn’t be together.

The train started then with a loud blast of its whistle, and Clara and Hermione both moved a little closer to their windows so that they could watch as it left. Clara scanned the people still at the station, but she didn’t see anyone of any interest. There was no reason to hope that her stepmother would still be there because Elena certainly didn’t care that much, but she’d thought, maybe—

_There._

In the middle of the crowd, Clara spotted another woman with bright red hair like hers. She stared at her, excited – but on second glance, she knew that it wasn’t her mother. The red of her hair was wrong – darker, somehow – and there was another girl with her. Clara didn’t want to think that her mother had replaced her with another daughter.

Clara settled back in her seat before Hermione did. The other girl seemed to be waving at someone, and she guessed that her parents were somewhere in the crowd. But instead of feeling sorry for herself, Clara turned to Luisa. “What are….” She stopped and frowned, trying to decide if there was a better way to word it. There wasn’t. “What are _houses_?”

Luisa’s eyes widened at Clara’s words, and her grin grew a little bit stronger. “You don’t know what _houses_ are? Don’t you live in one?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Luisa giggled. “I know! You just seemed so serious, and I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

Clara scowled, stuck out her tongue at her, and then turned to Hermione just as the brunette settled back into her seat. “How’d _you_ know what they are?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading,” Hermione said. “ _Hogwarts: A History_ talks about the four founders – Salazaar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw – and how each of them have houses at the school that are based on their morals.” She turned to Luisa. “I’m glad you aren’t in Slytherin. They sound like the worst of the lot.”

Clara couldn’t keep her face from growing white, and she hoped that neither of the other girls noticed.

“They’re not _all_ bad,” Luisa said. “My dad was in Slytherin, and he’s one of the nicest people I know.”

“My stepmother was in Slytherin,” Clara said, recalling their conversation in Diagon Alley, “and I met the…. She said he was the head of the house? The potions professor, Severus. _He_ seemed nice.”

Luisa’s eyes widened. “You met Snape? Where?”

“At Diagon Alley. Right before I got my wand, right before I met you. I think he was waiting on someone.” Her eyes narrowed. “A girl, maybe.” Then she looked up. “Is he as nice as he seems?” Even if she was in Slytherin, it’d be okay if her head of house was okay. She didn’t think the hook-nosed Severus – _Snape_ , as Luisa called him – could really be all bad if he hadn’t gotten along with Elena. That would mean that the house _could_ be good.

Luisa winced, and she gave an awkward smile. “Well….”

“I don’t think a head of Slytherin _can_ be good,” Hermione interjected, “even _if_ Merlin was a Slytherin. Every bad wizard has come from there. Voldemort and his Death Eaters—”

“Who?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Clara. “You really _don’t_ know anything, _do_ you?”

“I just didn’t do any reading,” Clara explained, her brow furrowing. “I didn’t know we were supposed to be doing any reading. I just thought—”

“It’s okay, Clara!” Luisa reached over and patted her hand. “I didn’t do any reading before my first year, either, and I turned out just fine. Trust me, you’re going to be okay.”

Clara nodded once. She looked back at Hermione. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I know!” Hermione bit her lower lip, buck teeth just showing. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I just thought _everyone_ in the wizarding world must know about him. Your parents didn’t say anything?”

Clara shook her head. “My dad’s not a wizard, and Elena doesn’t tell me anything unless she thinks I absolutely need to know it. My mom might’ve told me, if she hadn’t—” Her voice faded. She didn’t really want to talk about her mom. She didn’t know why she brought her up at all.

But Luisa jumped in before Hermione could ask any questions about her. “Slytherin’s not a bad house,” she said. “It’s just different. Like Hufflepuff’s different. People think that only bad people are put into Slytherin and only dumb people are put into Hufflepuff. But my dad was a Slytherin and he’s not bad, and I’m a Hufflepuff and I’m not dumb. I don’t know why people think all those things about us. It’s not very nice.”

“No,” Hermione said, finally. “It isn’t. But still,” she sighed, “I don’t want to be sorted into Slytherin. I don’t even think I _can_ be, since neither of my parents have magic. Salazaar Slytherin was really big on magical ancestry, and he wouldn’t have wanted me in his house.”

Clara frowned. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine not wanting someone with you just because their parents aren’t magic.” Her brow furrowed. “Maybe he won’t want me either, since my dad’s not a wizard.” It wasn’t a big hope, because if that was true, then there wouldn’t be any way for her to get sorted into that house. Elena would punish her if she didn’t, and she was sure that Elena wouldn’t have ordered her to do it if it was impossible. Maybe she could explain to whoever put them in their houses that she _had_ to be in Slytherin. Maybe they’d listen to her.

“How do they know which house to put you in?” Clara started to ask, but just as she began to get the words out, a woman came by with a huge cart full of food.

Luisa’s eyes widened, and she turned to Hermione and Clara with a huge grin. “Have either of you heard of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans?”

Clara blinked a couple of times. At first, Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and then she said, cautious, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of those before. What are they?”

A wicked grin came on Luisa’s face then, and before either of them could say anything more, she’d left their compartment, probably to buy some snacks. It was a little weird sitting alone with Hermione because Clara didn’t know what to say, but finally she asked, “What house do you want to be in? With all of your reading and everything, one of them must be better than the others.”

“I’ll probably be in Ravenclaw,” Hermione answered without a second thought.

“The one Luisa’s dad wanted her in?”

Hermione nodded. “Ravenclaws are all really smart. I thought Merlin _must_ have been in there.” She sighed and shook her head before continuing, “I don’t know where I’ll be if I’m not there. I’d like to be in Gryffindor because everyone’s so brave, but I don’t think that’s me. I’m just _smart_. Always have been.”

“You get top marks?” Clara asked.

Hermione nodded again. “What about you?”

“Uh.” Clara looked down and fidgeted with her clothes. “My grades are all messed up. I just get so bored in class that it’s hard to pay attention, and then my teachers take off points because I doodle on my homework or because I don’t do stuff the way they want me to – even when I get the right answer!” Then her head snapped up, and she met Hermione’s eyes. “You don’t think our grades transfer, do you? Is that how they know what house to put us in?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Ravenclaw you can maybe get from that, but you can’t measure bravery or cruelty or anything like that from _grades_. Unless,” and here her eyes widened. “What if different classes measure different things?”

Then Luisa returned, arms full of different treats and with a few drinks floating in the air next to her, and Clara turned to her immediately. “They don’t sort us into houses by our grades, do they?”

“No. Why would you think that?” It was to her credit that Luisa didn’t laugh at Clara’s exclamation or Hermione’s steady gaze. Instead, she focused on carefully placing her treats and the drinks down on the table between them. She passed one drink to Clara and another to Hermione.

“Well, we didn’t know,” Clara said, grabbing the drink and taking a sip. It tasted wonderful. “What is this?”

“Pumpkin juice,” Luisa said as she rummaged through the pile of treats before pulling one out and holding it aloft. She giggled a little bit as she opened the package. “How do you two feel about jelly beans?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed again. “Jelly beans?” She glanced over to the bag in Luisa’s hands, but Luisa kept it hidden so that she couldn’t read the title. “I don’t see what’s so special about those.”

Clara shrugged.

Luisa giggled again and pulled out a couple of beans. She placed one that was almost white in Clara’s hand and then placed one with an orange and red mixture in Hermione’s hand. “Here,” she said. “Try these.”

Clara looked at Luisa carefully. “You seem too happy about this,” she said, but she popped the jelly bean into her mouth anyway. Whatever it was Luisa was expecting, she didn’t think it had happened. Instead, the jelly bean tasted sweet and doughy, almost like— “Powdered donuts?”

Her words came at the same time that Hermione began to cough on her own jelly bean, her face scrunched up in distaste. “What _is_ that?” she finally struggled out as she swallowed the rest of hers.

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans!” Luisa exclaimed with a bright grin. She placed the package on the table, and Hermione immediately snatched it up. “Yours was _supposed_ to be chalk,” Luisa said, giving Clara a dissatisfied pout.

“I’m glad it wasn’t!”

As Hermione began to read through the contents of the package with a deepening scowl, a young boy with a round face opened the door to their compartment. She sat up a little straighter – she’d been hunched over as they talked – and stared at him. His eyes seemed a little bit watery, and his face was a bright red. “Who’re you?” she asked instead.

“N-n-neville,” the boy said, and his eyes widened as they focused on Luisa. “How’d you get here before me?”

“Get here before you?” Luisa asked, confused. “I’ve been here the whole time, haven’t I?”

Hermione and Clara both nodded, but Neville now seemed just as confused. “I thought I was sitting with you in one of the other cars. You haven’t moved at all?”

“No,” Luisa answered. “It must’ve been someone who _looked_ like me.”

Neville let out a sigh and then sat down next to Clara. “Wow, Luisa, I’m sorry. I thought it was you, so I was talking to her like I knew her. She was really, really mean, and when I wouldn’t shut up, she took Trevor—” He stood up all of a sudden again, and his hands began to wring together. “She almost fed Trevor to her cat, and then she threw him into the aisle! I tried to catch him, but he bounded off. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“You two know each other?” Hermione asked. “And who’s Trevor?”

Luisa nodded once in reply to Hermione’s question. “Neville and I know each other through extended family,” she said, her eyes meeting Neville’s, and he nodded once in agreement with her. “Trevor’s your pet toad, right?”

“Right,” Neville said. “He’s dark green and all bumpy and.... He’s a toad; he looks like a toad. Have you seen him?”

“No,” Luisa answered. “Sorry, Neville. I can keep an eye out for him if he comes by?”

Neville shook his head, and tears began to roll down his cheeks. “My grandmother is going to be so upset I’ve lost him. Trevor’s like a family heirloom. I don’t think he knows how to die. And if he escapes, I don’t know that I’ll ever see him again.”

“Do you want me to help you find him?” Hermione asked.

“Would you?” Neville asked, and he looked up, meeting Hermione’s eyes. “That’d be really, really great.”

“Sure. It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?” Hermione stood up, and Luisa stood up again, too, so that Hermione could scoot around her. Then she gave Luisa and Clara both a smile. “It was nice talking to you. If we find Trevor, I’ll come back, and we can keep talking then, okay?” Then she followed Neville out of the compartment without waiting for a reply from either of them.

Clara slumped back against her seat. “That girl sounds _horrid_.”

“Who does?” Luisa asked as she sat back down, smoothing out her clothes. ‘You don’t mean Hermione, do you?”

“No, she’s just a know it all. There’s loads of girls like her at my old school. That’s more annoying than it is horrid.” Clara’s hands gripped tight onto her seat cushion, and she leaned forward, kicking her feet a few times. “No, I meant whatever girl tried to feed Neville’s toad to her cat and then threw it out of their compartment. That wasn’t nice of her. She sounds just like a Slytherin.”

“I thought we’d decided that not all Slytherins were bad,” Luisa said, voice soft.

“I guess so,” Clara said, “but those rumors and stories of them all being bad has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it? Like this…this _Voldemort_ and his _Death Eaters_ , whoever they are. They just _sound_ bad, Lu.” She stopped as she caught her own words, and her eyes widened. “It’s okay if I call you that, right?”

“Sure!” Luisa grinned. “My brother calls me that all the time!” Then she frowned, lips pursing together. She pulled another package out of the tower of treats she’d bought from the food cart. When she opened it, a chocolate frog popped out, and she grabbed it with one hand. It squirmed in her grip as she bit off its head.

“ _Ew._ ”

“Hm?” Luisa looked up, and her eyes widened. “No, no, they’re all chocolate. They’re just magicked to act like frogs. They’re not really frogs.” She found another one in the pile and handed it over to Clara. “Look! You can see for yourself!”

Clara’s brow furrowed as she opened the package just enough to see the chocolate frog. It poked its head out of the wrapper and stared up at her with flat brown chocolate eyes. She stared at it, trying to decide whether to take a bite or not.

“Finally!” Luisa exclaimed, jumping in her seat.

Clara looked up, confused. “What?”

“Luisa the Luminous!” Luisa held out a card for Clara to see. “The frogs aren’t nearly as cool as the cards that come with them, and I’ve been looking for her for _ages_.” She grinned. “My mom named me after her.”

“Oh.” Clara took the card Luisa offered her. On the front was a dark woman with even darker hair. Her brown eyes twinkled with flecks of gold and green as she grinned up at her, and she raised one hand, waggling her fingers in an awkward little wave. She wore no hat, but there was a rose stuck in her hair. Clara flipped the card over and read the back.

_Luisa the Luminous_

_Despite working tirelessly for_   
_the rights of magical creatures,_   
_Luisa is best known for her work_   
_with centaurs and the shashirafo._

“What’s a…what’s a shashirafo?” Clara asked as she handed the card back.

Luisa shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows, except for the people who have to work with them. But my mom used to work with the centaurs in America, and I think that’s why she named me after her.”

“Your mom worked with centaurs?”

“Mmhm.” Luisa nodded. “You should eat your frog. The chocolate’s _really_ good.”

Clara looked down at the chocolate frog still watching her from his wrapper and shook her head. “It feels weird. Like I’m eating something alive. He’s not going to squirm all the way down, is he? The kids at school dared me to eat a live worm once, and I could feel it in my throat. I don’t want to do that again.”

“No, it’s not like that at all!” Luisa frowned. “But if you don’t want him, I’ll eat him. And then you can have the card!”

Clara handed her frog over and shook her head. “No, I don’t want the card. It’s no good having one if I’m not going to collect the rest of them.”

But Luisa’s eyes widened as she pulled the card out. She held the frog tight in her other hand, and despite its squirming, she didn’t let go. “Wow,” she said. “She’s _pretty_.” She stuffed the frog whole into her mouth and handed the card over so that Clara could see it. “I’ve never seen her before. I didn’t even know her card _existed_. She must be really, really rare.”

Clara took the card and saw a woman who looked a lot like her mother staring back at her. They both had the same cascading, curled red hair, the same freckles spattered across their nose and just under their eyes, and the same bright blue eyes that seemed to sparkle when the light hit them. When the woman noticed Clara staring at her, she gave her a mischievous wink and a big grin. Clara turned the card over to read the back.

_Rose the Vixen_

_So named by Luisa the Luminous,_   
_Rose founded the Court of Roses_   
_and brokered peace between_   
_wizards and her shashirafo brethren._

“There’s that word again,” Clara said, handing the card back to Luisa. “You’re sure you don’t know what it is?”

Luisa shook her head. “We haven’t covered it in any of my classes. Maybe they come up in Care of Magical Creatures? But I won’t be able to take that until next year. I could ask Cedric or Bedelia, though. They’re a few years ahead of me, and one of them probably knows.”

“No, that’s okay.” Clara couldn’t help staring at the card, even as Luisa pocketed it with her other one. “She looks kind of like my mother.”

“Oh.”

They were silent then for a few minutes, and Clara couldn’t help but look outside the window. Everything outside seemed to have grown darker. It looked like they were in the middle of nowhere. She hadn’t been afraid before, but now she couldn’t help but feel nervous. “Hey,” she said, turning back to Luisa. “Hogwarts…it’s a really good place, isn’t it? I’ll like it there?”

“I think it’s great, and I like it,” Luisa answered. She leaned forward, propping her elbows up on the table. “But I don’t know what the other houses are like. Hufflepuff’s pretty great.” She smiled. “I hope you’re in my house. It’d be cool to spend a lot of time with you.”

Clara smiled, even though she knew that if she had any say in it, they wouldn’t be. She _had_ to be in Slytherin, just like Elena told her, or something really, really bad would happen. “Yeah,” she said anyway. “That’d be really cool.”

“And if not,” Luisa continued, “we should spend time together anyway, if we can. I’ll be a year ahead of you, so if you have any trouble with your classes, I can help straighten you out.” She grinned and laughed. “I was the top of my class, actually,” she said, “and I’m really good at remembering stuff.”

“Even if I don’t need help with my classes,” Clara said, “can we be friends anyway? I’d really like for us to be friends.”

“Of course!” Luisa said. “You and Hermione and Neville, you’re all my friends. I like all of you.”

Clara grinned. “Okay.” That didn’t help her nerves go away entirely, but it certainly made her feel quite a bit better. Then the train started to slow down, and that uneasy feeling started to come back again. She turned to look out the window, and she could see a castle looming in the distance. “Is that—?”

Luisa scooted over towards the window. “That’s Hogwarts!” She turned to Clara and then frowned. “We should change into our robes. They’ll want us to be dressed properly when we get there.”

“Oh…. Okay.”

It didn’t take them long to get changed. Clara wasn’t sure exactly how to get her robes on right, but Luisa helped her straighten them out. Luisa even had a little tie in yellow and black, which were apparently the Hufflepuff colors. Clara thought that was right – the sunny yellow color fit Luisa perfectly – and she wished that she could wear those colors, too, or even that she might be sorted into Ravenclaw with Hermione, since that’s where she was so certain she was going. She really didn’t want to be in Slytherin without either of her new friends.

The train crawled to a stop, and Clara felt her heart sink in her chest. “I guess this is it,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it!” Luisa said. She gripped her wand tight in one hand. The rest of the food she’d bought had been hidden in Clara’s trunk because Luisa hadn’t really had much room in her own. She gave Clara her characteristically bright grin. “It doesn’t matter what house you’re sorted into. You’ll make friends there. And if you don’t, you’ll still have me, okay?”

Clara nodded once.

“We leave our trunks here,” Luisa said. She led Clara out of their compartment. “Just keep your wand with you. They’ll separate you from the rest of us when we get off the train; they keep all the first years together, so they can sort you. Then you’ll be with your house.”

Something on Clara’s face must have seemed out of place because Luisa pulled her into a big hug as they got off the train. “You’ll be okay,” she said again. “Don’t worry about it!”

Clara was about to tell Luisa _thanks_ , but then she heard a loud booming voice yelling out for first years. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed once. “I…I guess I should go.”

“Good luck!” Luisa said as she backed away towards the rest of the students. “And happy sorting!”

Clara took a deep breath and turned away, heading off towards the voice yelling for first years. As she did so, she knocked into another little girl – one that she recognized. The girl with the braid who she’d seen right before she got her wand! But now that she was paying attention and could get a closer look—

“Hey,” Clara said, and the girl turned to her, dark muddy brown eyes staring at her. “You’re not—”

“Janet,” the girl said through gritted teeth. “My name’s Janet, and if you try and call me Luisa, I’m gonna hex you.” Then the girl pushed past her, hands shoved into the pockets in her robe, and was lost in the crowd of first years.

_That must be the girl who tried to feed Neville’s frog to her cat_ , Clara thought. She shuddered once. No matter what happened, she did _not_ want to be in the same house as _that_ girl. But she couldn’t stay standing where she was too long or she would be left behind. So she rushed off to go meet with the rest of the first years.


	6. The Sorting Hat

_Four to a boat_ – that was what the very big, very burly man had said. Clara watched as Hermione and the boy who had been looking for his toad got into a boat with a couple of other students she hadn’t met. Without Luisa to join her, Clara got into one of the boats all by herself, hoping that anyone who joined her was at least nice.

At first, it seemed as though that would be the case. A thin blonde girl with deep brown eyes followed her into the boat and sat just across from her. Her manner of sitting seemed a little more practiced than Clara’s; Clara had scrambled in and sat on the edge of the boat, felt it rocking unsteadily beneath her, and then clung on for dear life until the other girl got in and evened things out. Her dark eyes flicked towards Clara, and her thin lips pursed. “You shouldn’t sit on the edge like that. You’ll fall if we hit anything.”

“We won’t hit anything,” Clara retorted. “The boats have got to be controlled with magic. They won’t let us get hurt.”

“Suit yourself,” the blonde said, sitting on her hands.

Then the very big, very burly man came over with the Luisa lookalike, patting her on the back with one of his big hands. Clara wasn’t sure if it was a hard hit or just the girl not wanting to be touched but the girl winced as soon as he hit her. “Look, this one’s got room for ya.” Her beamed at them. “Might be in one of ya’r houses later!” He patted the girl’s back again and walked off as she clambered into the boat.

“You’re the one who tried to eat Trevor.” Clara glared at the girl. She didn’t care about her old, tattered black robes or the threadbare clothes just underneath them. She just cared that the girl was _mean_.

“Didn’t try to eat anyone.”

“Did, too!” Clara turned to the blonde girl. “She tried to feed that kid’s toad to her cat!” she said, pointing at the mean girl.

The blonde looked from Clara to the other girl and then back again. “She did what to _whose_ toad?” Then she frowned. “Doesn’t sound like she tried to eat anyone.”

“Well, I guess not, but—”

“Told you.” The Luisa lookalike scowled and crossed her arms. “Didn’t try to eat anybody.”

“You threatened to hex me!”

“Like I could actually do that.” The girl rolled her eyes and turned to the blonde. “I’m Janet, by the way.” She didn’t hold her hand out for the other girl to shake it, which Clara thought was weird, but the other girl didn’t seem to mind.

“Susanna,” the blonde girl said. “Susanna Barnett.” Then she turned to look at Clara. “What’s your name?”

“Clara Ruvelle.”

Susanna looked her over and then opened her mouth as though to say something. Then all of a sudden there was a huge _whooshing_ sound, and the boat shoved forward all at once. Clara, not expecting anything, stumbled and fell from her perch back into the boat. She could hear that mean girl – _Janet_ – laughing at her, and when she looked up, Susanna was giggling, too. “I told you!”

Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she glared at Janet, who hadn’t stopped laughing at her, and brushed the dirt from her brand new robes before sitting on the bench like she was probably supposed to have done the first time. When she looked at Janet again, the other girl leered at her before wiping one of her long sleeves across her nose.

_Ew._

From what Clara had heard about Slytherin, this cruel girl was definitely a shoe-in. She crossed her arms and looked down. No Luisa, probably no Hermione, and she didn’t know about this Susanna girl, but Clara didn’t want to share a house for the next however many years with someone who’d laughed at her – and she didn’t want to be in a house _full_ of mean people either! Wouldn’t people just think she was mean because she was one of them? But then there was Elena’s threat. It was all horrible.

The boats took them across a big lake and towards the huge castle without much more dispute. Floating lanterns hovered just above each boat so that they could see through the darkness. They seemed to follow the much larger boat that held the big, burly man from before, and they stopped just in front of a path leading up to the castle.

 _That’s Hogwarts_ , Clara thought. She pointedly waited for Janet to get out of the boat before she did – she didn’t want to have to worry about getting pushed out – and then joined the rest of the first years as the big, burly man led them across slippery rocks and damp grass towards the castle. They went up a few stone steps, and then he pounded on the door three times.

Another witch answered the door. Clara suspected this would be one of their new teachers, but she wasn’t close enough to get a good look at her. She didn’t think this witch would like her, either, though. She didn’t really get along with teachers. In fact, when they stood in the great open area and she started talking, Clara didn’t pay any attention – not because what she was saying wasn’t _important_ , because she was sure it was, but because her eyes were drawn to the hall itself.

It was _huge_. Bigger than her house, definitely, but even bigger than the bakery her mother used to work in – bigger than the bakery and their house combined! Clara wished she’d brought a camera with her to take pictures. Her dad would _love_ to see this place. He wouldn’t know what to make of it! Then she remembered how much her father hated magic and thought maybe it was better that she didn’t send him pictures at all.

Then Clara felt the weight of the witch’s stare on her and looked up. She grinned awkwardly and tried to remember what the witch had just said. Something about looking nice. She brushed at the dirt on her new black robes again as the witch went into an adjoining room, but if she hadn’t been able to get it off before, then she didn’t think she was going to get more of it out now. Without any reason to try and focus on her again, Clara’s eyes began to wander.

“ _Phew_ , you’re here.”

Clara turned, and there was Hermione, standing next to her. Before she could say anything, Hermione started trying to brush at the dirt on Clara’s robes, and somehow she got more off than Clara had been able to. Clara relaxed. “How was your boat ride?”

“Horrible.” Hermione stepped back and frowned. “I think that’s as good as I can make you.”

Then there was a sharp screaming from a dark-haired boy next to her, and Hermione _jumped_. Clara didn’t move. Her eyes followed the boy’s pointing finger and then widened as her lips split into a huge grin.

_Ghosts!_

Clara grabbed Hermione’s hand and gave it a little tug. Each of the ghosts seemed to be wearing old timey clothing – or maybe she just _thought_ they were old timey. They might have been normal for witches and wizards, especially with all the robes and hats and things. She wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but they seemed to be having a conversation with the kids up at the front. They seemed nice enough, which meant that she could have a conversation with them later!

Then the witch returned, and the others started lining up. Clara guessed that was what she was supposed to do, too, and she got in line right behind Hermione. She glanced back and noticed that she was followed by a boy with hair that was so blonde it almost looked white – the boy from Borgin and Burkes! He gave her a mean-spirited sneer as soon as she looked at him, and she scowled. Then the line began to move, and they entered an even _more_ massive room.

They were led between four long tables where each of the other students sat. Clara looked around and noticed Luisa sitting at a table on the farthest right next to an older girl with beautiful, precisely curled blonde hair. Luisa caught her eye and gave her a big smile and a wave. She patted the shoulder of the girl next to her and pointed at Clara, and then Clara blushed, ran her hands through her frizzy, untamed red hair, and looked away before she could see the blonde’s reaction. _Then she ran into Hermione_ – the line had come to a sudden stop while she was looking around. She rubbed the tip of her nose a couple of times and then glanced back to see Luisa giggling. She stuck her tongue out at her. Then Luisa turned to the front of the room, and Clara followed her gaze.

_What’s so cool about a ratty old hat?_

Clara shuffled her feet a couple of times and stuck her hands in her robes. She wished they had better pockets so she could keep something in them to keep her hands occupied when she was bored like this, like a baseball, maybe, or a whittling knife and a piece of wood, not that her father had taught her how to do that. Her eyes began to wander again, eventually focusing on the table high up at the top of the room, where a bunch of adults sat. One of them was Severus, who Luisa had called Snape, sitting next to a man with a turban wrapped around his head. The man with the newspaper! These must be the other professors! And in the very center was the one who seemed to be the oldest, other than the ghost who might have been dozing on the other end. Then she glanced up at the ceiling – _wait, was that the sky?_ – before her gaze was drawn back to the hat as it began to sing in a dreadful, ratty, mothball filled but somehow still _loud_ voice:

_“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_   
_But don’t judge on what you see,_   
_I’ll eat myself if you can find a prettier hat than me._   
_You can keep your bowlers black,_   
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_   
_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_   
_And I can cap them all._   
_There’s nothing hidden in your head_   
_The Sorting Hat can’t see,_   
_So try me on and I will tell you_   
_Where you ought to be.”_

So this hat – _this_ was the test that determined which house she was going to be in? Clara grimaced. How was she going to convince a hat to let her into Slytherin? She listened to the rest of its song, where it detailed different aspects of the different houses: brave and daring, for Gryffindor (along with some other words that she didn’t quite know what they meant); just, loyal, patient, true, and…something about soil, for Hufflepuff (that sounded exactly like Luisa, even though she hadn’t spent much time with her); wise, ready, and learning, for Ravenclaw (and that sounded like Hermione – all top marks and all that studying before getting here? she had to be a Ravenclaw for sure); and then _cunning_ and _doing anything to get their end_ for Slytherin (and that was Elena to a T, although Clara would never have thought to describe her that way).

If Clara could be in whatever she wanted, she would be in Gryffindor. She wouldn’t call herself brave, but Elena and her dad and her teachers often said she was stubborn and blunt-headed, and that seemed like it was a lot the same thing. But she’d hate to be in Gryffindor and not in Hufflepuff with Luisa. She was sure if she tried she could be loyal and…whatever the thing with soil was. She didn’t think she was good at being patient or truthful; she was already shuffling her feet again, trying to keep herself moving, her eyes gazing about the room, and while she didn’t like to lie to everyone, it came really easily for her. And Ravenclaw? She was a dunce. She was _horrible_ at school, but that was mostly because it was boring. She could be really good at school if she tried; she was sure of it.

Out of all the options, Slytherin was the one that felt the most _wrong_ to her. Maybe that was what Elena intended. Elena probably knew all of the houses by heart and could probably guess at the house that would be best for her, so she probably just wanted her in the worst possible house so that she would get the worst possible experience out of being at the magic school, just like she’d wanted her at Hogwarts instead of at Beauxbatons. But wanting her here had already backfired – she’d already made a great friend in Luisa, and she thought she was starting to make a friend in Hermione, and she’d never have met either of them if she’d gone to Beauxbatons instead, far as she knew. So maybe being in Slytherin would be like that, too. If she could even convince the hat to put her there. It was all so much more confusing than she’d thought it would be.

Clara shook her head, trying to clear her mind, but nothing she did seemed to be helping. Maybe if she—

“ _Susanna Barnett!_ ” she heard the witch call out from the front of the line, and someone bumped into Clara’s back as it moved a little bit further ahead. The blonde girl she’d met on the boat walked to the front of the room with a pale, pale face. She seemed to bite her lower lip as the hat sank over her head, far past her deep brown eyes. Not a moment passed before the hat shouted, in that same moth-torn, ratty voice:

“ **RAVENCLAW!** ”

Susanna took the hat very carefully from her head and seemed to say something to it and to the teachers before moving to the table on the middle left, where they were cheering for her.

But there didn’t seem to be anything happening! The hat just went on her head and then screamed out a name!

Clara watched with more interest, trying to figure out what was going on, as more people sat on the stool and had the hat plopped on their head – Hermione went to Gryffindor, which seemed to surprise both of them, but she was grinning so big that she looked like she was beaming when she went to sit at the table on the far left; Neville, the boy who lost his toad, also went to Gryffindor, although he looked a little clumsy; others went to Slytherin (like the white-haired boy behind her in line, who pushed against her to get to the front when his name was called) or Hufflepuff (where Luisa clapped excitedly for them to join her house, and _oh_ , Clara wished that could be her because she wanted her friend to be excited for her), but there didn’t seem to be any particular order to it. How was the hat choosing who went where? And how could she convince it to send her where she wanted to go?

Or _didn’t_ want to go, as the case may be.

Then the hall went _silent_. Clara’s head whipped towards the front of the room to see what was happening, and all of a sudden, there were whispers and mentions of a name – _Potter_ , she caught first, and then _Harry_ – and she glanced at the boy scuffling up to sit on the stool. He was dark-skinned, even darker than Luisa, with a pale lightning-shaped scar on his forehead – it was bright enough against his skin that she could see it from where she stood, although maybe if the line hadn’t gotten so much shorter and she hadn’t been pushed so much closer to the front she wouldn’t have been able to see it. His hair was scruffy and black like it hadn’t been combed in ages – like her own, only not frizzy or curly, and she figured his parents had never tried to shave his hair off the way Elena had tried with hers – and he was scrawnier than her, too! But taller. She could tell he was taller. Which meant no matter how tiny he was, _she_ could get into smaller spots. So she was more special than he was by far. The last thing she noticed about him was his bright _bright_ green eyes just before the hat dropped over them. He was so small that the hat seemed to gulp up his entire head!

Clara didn’t understand the hush. She had no idea who this boy was. Maybe she was supposed to know. If she still had friends in the line with her, she’d elbow one of them and ask, but Hermione was gone and Susanna, who wasn’t really a friend yet and _had_ laughed at her, was gone, too. That horrid Luisa lookalike Janet girl was still there, but she wasn’t going to ask her. She’d probably just laugh at her for not knowing who he was.

She’d ask Luisa, next time she saw her. Luisa wouldn’t laugh at her.

Then, all at once, after what felt like _forever_ but was really only two or three minutes, the hat yelled out, “ **GRYFFINDOR!** ” The table to the far left screamed and seemed to explode with excitement as the scrawny boy took the hat off his head and carefully set it back on the stool. She’d watched some of the other kids when they sat down at their tables, but none of them got the reaction that this boy did. Maybe he was, like, a wizarding star or something. Like when high schools got really excited about a good rugby player. She didn’t think wizards had rugby or anything like that, though.

And then, all too soon, the witch in the emerald robes was calling out, “ _Clara Ruvelle!_ ” and it was her turn to walk to the front of the line.

Clara _wished_ her robes had better pockets. As it was, she would have to push her hands into her jeans pockets under her robes, and she thought that looked tacky. Not that she cared what other people thought she looked like, but she thought that maybe Luisa and the pretty blonde girl sitting next to her wouldn’t like her looking that way. Instead, her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. She stared at the tattered old hat until the witch lifted it up. Then she sat on the stool, gripping its edges with her dirty, broken fingernails, and the hat was shoved on her head.

At first, there was nothing, only that deep, penetrating blackness of having something covering your eyes like a blindfold. There was a little bit of light coming in at the bottom, and she could see through that enough to wiggle her toes in her busted old red sneakers and watch them bop together. Then, there was the voice – that same moth-eaten, rusty one – hushed directly into her head.

 _“Well,_ you’re _a wonder, aren’t you?”_

 _What’s a wonder?_ Clara thought without saying, but the hat answered anyway.

_“You are.”_

Clara felt her eyes grow wide, and she was glad that no one could see her shock from under the hat. _You can read my mind!_ Then, just as quickly, _Well, that’s not very nice. I don’t want you peeping around inside my head. Buzz off._

The hat seemed to laugh. Maybe, if she was watching it from the outside, it would jiggle a little bit on her head, but seeing the edge not moving, she thought maybe no one else knew it was laughing at her. Didn’t really matter, though. She didn’t like being laughed at.

 _Can you hurry up and do whatever it is you do to put me in Slytherin? I don’t like all these people staring at me._ Clara tapped her sneakers together again.

_“Who says you’re a Slytherin?_   
_Seems to me like you would do just as well in Gryffindor.”_

Clara thought about that for a second. If she was in Gryffindor, she’d be with Hermione, and she liked her okay. She would already have a friend! And, of course, there was that fancy boy with the scar to think about. He was in Gryffindor, too. And the boy with the toad who was friends with Luisa. Seemed like she already had a couple of friends there for her, not that friends were the important thing when it came to houses and things like that, but—

Elena would _kill_ her if she wasn’t in Slytherin. Or maybe she wouldn’t kill her, but it would be something just as awful. And not _everyone_ in Slytherin could be bad, no matter what anyone else thought. Luisa’s dad was in Slytherin, and Luisa said he was a great man. And the head of the house – Severus, Elena had called him, but Luisa had called him Snape – seemed alright. He didn’t like Elena, and that was good enough for her. And _Merlin_! So she could probably get by making friends with the good ones.

Clara tapped her shoes together again.

_“Are you sure you want someone else to decide_   
_what house you’re in?_   
_Especially someone you don’t seem to like?”_

Clara watched her busted red sneakers. One of the laces was untied. She hadn’t noticed that before. Maybe it had untied while she was sitting here, or maybe she’d stepped on it while she was sitting down on the stool. The floor seemed so far away.

 _You wouldn’t put me in a house you don’t think I’d do okay in, would you?_ she thought at the hat. It may have been listening the entire time, watching the organizing of the pictures in her head as she debated between the houses, and if she thought about it, she would be certain that was the case. But Clara didn’t think about it and so didn’t realize.

_“I thought you didn’t want me in your head._   
_What were your exact words?_   
_Buzz off?”_

Clara scowled. _I asked this time!_ She tapped her shoes together again and wondered if it seemed as long for the people watching and waiting out there as it did for her in here.

_“I won’t put you in a house_   
_where you won’t have the chance to succeed.”_

_Succeed at what?_ Clara wanted to ask, but she didn’t think the hat would answer. Well, if that was the case, the hat wouldn’t put her in Slytherin if it was really a bad option. She took a deep breath.

_“You’re sure?_   
_You want someone else to dictate your life?”_

_No_ , Clara thought, _but I can make friends anywhere. I’m sure of it._ Her feet tapped together again, and this time she noticed that the shoelace that she’d thought was untied was suddenly tied again. She wondered how that had happened. Maybe it was just really loose and she only _thought_ it was untied. _Maybe it’s better to succeed there than it is to succeed where people are in place to help me. It’s harder. But I’m scruffy and better than that fancy boy. I’ll prove it!_

 _“That’s not how that works,_  
 _but if you’re decided—_  
 **SLYTHERIN!** ”

The last word boomed out the way the other houses had when the other kids had been sorted instead of sounding out in her head like the rest of their conversation. Clara took another deep breath before taking the hat off and placing it back on the stool. Her stomach turned into knots. At least the Slytherin table was next to the Hufflepuff table. She might not be sitting _with_ Luisa, but she could still sit next to her. Clara sat down in the empty space next to the white-haired boy who had been standing in line behind her, the one who had sneered, and she reached out behind her. Luisa took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before anything else could happen.

“ _Janet Sparks!_ ” the witch at the front called, and Clara watched with a shudder as the girl who looked like Luisa strode forward to the stool.

Luisa poked Clara in the back then and leaned over to whisper, “That’s her! That must’ve been the girl Neville was talking about!” Her voice grew annoyed. “ _Gosh_ , she _does_ look like me.”

“You’re better than she is by tons,” Clara said, and she turned just enough to see Luisa give her a little smile before leaning back against her table. Then Clara’s eyes focused on the mean girl. it was easy, this far away and already filled with dislike, to try and think of what she was sure were hundreds of ways that she was different – and not as good as – Luisa. Her eyes were darker, there was that. Her hair was pulled back in that tight little braid, and Luisa’s was all wavy and flowy about her shoulders. She seemed to have a perpetual scowl, and Luisa was kind and good and smiled. Luisa wasn’t ever mean. That girl was—

“ **SLYTHERIN!** ”

Clara groaned with disappointment, even though she’d been so certain earlier that girl would be in Slytherin, too. She definitely matched all of those horrible descriptions of the house that she’d been hearing, so of course, she would be put here. She was too mean to be just or patient or true, like Luisa was, or wise and stuck on learning, like Hermione had seemed to be, or brave and daring and courageous – all very good qualities that apparently fit Hermione and Clara liked to think fit herself, too. Mean people _couldn’t_ be brave or courageous. They were just mean.

The mean Janet girl strode over to the table, but instead of taking a seat next to any of the other first years, she took a seat next to one of the ghosts. He was covered with a sparkling silver substance that might have been blood. Clara wasn’t surprised at the girl’s decision. Ghosts? Blood? Okay, so maybe Clara regretted not sitting next to him herself, but she had time to talk to ghosts later. She was just glad she wasn’t sitting next to that girl.

The hat continued to call out houses for the last few people, but Clara didn’t really pay attention. Instead, she turned to the white-haired boy next to her. “You bumped into me in line earlier.”

The boy turned to her with pursed lips. “I bumped into a lot of people. What’s it matter to you?”

“Didn’t like getting bumped into, is all,” Clara said. She had to at least _try_ to be nice to the other people in her house. Maybe he could be a friend. “I’m Clara, by the way.”

“Draco Malfoy.” The boy looked her up and down. “I’d pegged you for a Weasley, with your red hair and freckles, but your clothes are too nice.”

Clara blinked a couple of times, confused. “What’s a Weasley?”

“ _Ronald Weasley!_ ” the witch at the front shouted.

“Look up there,” Draco said, gesturing at the front with a nod of his head. “ _That’s_ a Weasley.”

Clara sat up a little straighter on her seat and tried to peer over the heads of the other students around her so that she could see the boy walking up to the stool. He was similar to how Draco had described _her_ – red hair and freckles – but he was much lankier and already taller than she was. There was a spot of dirt on his nose, and his robes were just as worn out as Janet’s were. “They all look like that?” she asked.

“All of them.” Draco leaned back in his seat and looked Clara over again as the hat called out that this boy belonged in Gryffindor, too. “You seem alright, though. Not like _them_.”

Just because he said it with an air of appraisal didn’t mean that Clara felt good about what he was saying. But he seemed to know about things – at least, he seemed to know more than she did. So, instead of asking Luisa, who was focused on her table again, she asked him: “So, who’s Harry Potter?”

Draco scowled, and his brow darkened. “He’s—”

Then he was interrupted as the old man who sat in the very center of the table at the front of the room stood, his arms spread wide, with a bright, warm smile on his face. He seemed odd, and he seemed even _more_ odd as he welcomed them with four words: “Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

As he sat back down, Clara decided that it was probably just because he was old. Every old person she’d ever met had seemed really weird, and he was no exception. Maybe old people were just all wizards; maybe that was why they were allowed to be weird. Or maybe wizards just lived longer than normal people did. Either way, she started to turn back to Draco to ask him about that Harry Potter kid again, only to notice that the table had suddenly become full of food!

_And everyone was eating!_

Clara glanced around the table, watching as the other students dragged food from the other plates onto theirs, like a giant potluck, and as her stomach grumbled with hunger, she realized that _she_ could do that, too! She reached across and piled her plate high with pastries and pot pies and bread – _so much bread_ , and so many different kinds! But even as she took a bite, two, _more_ of the different offerings, they still tasted…good, they were great, they were _really_ great! But there was something about this bread that couldn’t hold a candle to the kind her mom used to make before she left. It was still good and warm and comforting, but—

All at once, Clara missed her mom with an ache so great it was palpable. The food suddenly didn’t taste as good as it once did, even seconds before, and as hungry as she had been, she suddenly felt a little less so. Everything, all of this, would be so much better if she’d had someone to share it with – if she’d had her mom, who had been on the edge of explaining so much before she left, instead of Elena, who didn’t explain anything and only made absurd demands that Clara couldn’t figure out how to keep. She tried to make herself eat anyway. She didn’t want to look weak in front of all these new people.

“I guess it goes without saying that you’re a pureblood, too, like the rest of us,” Draco said as he shoved a chicken leg into his mouth. He tore a bite off, crispy skin bits sticking to his chin.

Clara set down the baguette in her hand before turning to him. “What’s a pureblood?”

“Your parents are both wizards.” It was clear from Draco’s tone that he thought he was talking to an idiot. “The Weasleys are all purebloods, but they’re Muggle loving blood traitors. Potter’s supposed to be from a pureblood line, too, but my dad always says he doesn’t count. His dad was the last of the line or something.” He took another bite of his chicken leg and then spoke with food still in his mouth, spraying it a bit onto his golden plate. “Would I know your mum or your dad from somewhere?”

“My mom, maybe,” Clara said, cautious. Something about how Draco reacted made her think that she shouldn’t tell him her dad wasn’t a wizard, and she was glad that she’d already learned what a Muggle was because she certainly wouldn’t have wanted to hear it from him. “Her name’s Marie Ruvelle. Have you heard of her?”

Draco shook his head. “Never heard of her. Must not be a very good witch. My father—”

And that was where Clara stopped listening. Draco kept talking, but she tried to focus on her food instead. She needed to make sure that she ate more, even if she didn’t feel all that hungry. That was what her mom would want, she thought. Not that it mattered. Her mom had been gone a really long time. If she cared, she would have said something.

But she hadn’t.

* * *

Clara stopped eating long before the food in front of them disappeared and was replaced with desserts, and while the desserts all looked like they would definitely be something _wonderful_ , she couldn’t muster up the desire to eat much of anything else. She took a couple of pastries and nibbled at them and found a powdered donut just to see if the jelly bean Luisa had given her earlier matched it in taste (it did!), but she felt far too miserable to want to eat anything else.

Then it seemed like everyone was done, and the food stopped appearing. The old man with the funny words stood up again – Clara guessed he was the headmaster, although she didn’t know what his name was yet – Elena hadn’t mentioned it, and none of the other kids had yet either – and as he did, the room got almost as quiet as it had when the Potter kid went up to the hat earlier. Not _quite_ as quiet, because there were still little pockets of chatter here and there that no one shushed, but still quiet.

The man seemed to clasp his hands together in front of his long white beard and then grinned down at everyone again before his expression grew even more stern. He cleared his throat and began giving…general announcements.

Now, to be honest, Clara hated general announcements. At least at her last school they’d been over the crackly intercom, so that she could pretend that the noise was bothering her and that was why she wasn’t paying attention. Now she was so tired from the train ride here and then making sure she got into Slytherin and then eating (and, well, _not_ eating) that she didn’t want to pay attention at all.

He mentioned something about a forest being forbidden and try-outs for…not rugby, but maybe it was some game that wizards and witches played instead of rugby. It was probably _that_ making everyone so excited about the Potter kid. Maybe she’d find out about that later, too. And then there was something about the third floor and death—

Clara yawned as he continued to speak and then laid her head down on her hands. She wished that there was still some food on the table just so that she could have something to nibble on. There weren’t even any crumbs to flick. How did they _do_ that?

Then something about _singing the school song_ , and before Clara could think that she didn’t know the words or the tune, he’d said something about picking any tune they wanted and he’d made a ribbon that contorted itself into words, and then _it was the most disastrous clang of noises_ that made Clara want to cover her ears and hide. She couldn’t do that, not with everyone watching, so she gritted her teeth together and stayed in her spot and waited for the song to finish.

It took too long. There were a couple of idiots at the Gryffindor table who’d chosen a funeral dirge. She began to see why she might not have wanted to be in _that_ house.

And then – _finally!_ – they were allowed to leave the dining hall and go to their houses.

“First years!” A girl with shoulder-length black hair and piercing cold blue eyes gestured to the students at the Slytherin table as the other, older students left without paying them much attention. “Follow me over here!”

Clara scooted out of her chair and walked over to her along with Draco, Janet, and a few other boys and girls who must have been sorted before she was. Luisa bumped into her as she passed, and before Clara continued to the older Slytherin girl, she gave Luisa a big hug. “Sorry I didn’t get into your house,” she said sadly.

“That’s okay!” Luisa said, returning her hug with a tight one of her own. “We’ll still see each other! I’m sure of it!” She stepped back and gave Clara a grin. “I know the castle seems huge and intimidating, and a lot of people are really particular about their houses, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.” Then she gave Clara another quick little hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Clara said, but when she didn’t move, Luisa gave her a slight push in the direction of the dark-haired Slytherin girl who stood there, arms crossed as she waited on her. Clara stumbled forward a couple of steps. She turned back towards Luisa, who just gestured her to keep going, and then she went to meet the rest of the Slytherin first years. She quickly noticed where Janet stood at the other end of the group, closer to the girl at the front, with her arms crossed and her head tilted down, making sure to stay away from her.

Now that all of the first years were crowded around her, the dark-haired girl with the piercing blue eyes gave them all a little smile. “I’m Alana Bloom,” she said, relaxing. “I’m one of the prefects this year. You can tell because of this badge.” She pointed to a little P-shaped badge pinned to her robes. “Anyone with one of these is a Prefect – which means we’re here to help you.” A pause. “And also to make sure that you’re following the rules, but _mostly_ to help you.”

Clara wasn’t sure she was all too happy about that _follow the rules_ thing. She was never good about following rules. Not because she intentionally broke them, just because she was particularly bad at _keeping_ them. She brushed a hand through her red curls with a frown.

“Think of me as your older sister,” Alana continued. “Now, follow me, and I’ll show you where our dormitories are.”

At her words, Clara could see Janet visibly stiffen. She wasn’t sure if she’d done the same, but she hadn’t really liked what Alana had said either. How could she think of Alana as her older sister when she’d never had one? How do you treat an older sister? From what she’d heard, they were all mean and concerned with make-up and boys and looking pretty. She didn’t care about any of those things. That all sounded really bad to her. And calling her out for not following the rules! That sounded just like something an older sister would do, ratting out the younger kids to their parents! She decided all too early that she didn’t want anything to do with this Alana girl, if she didn’t have to. She didn’t need someone else like Elena who wanted her to look pretty, and she certainly didn’t need someone snitching on her to the professors.

But she _did_ need to follow her to their dormitories if she wanted a place to sleep. Clara ended up at the back of the group, so far behind that she was almost by herself. She scuffed her feet along the stone floors as she walked. The castle seemed to grow colder and colder as they began to head towards what she thought was the basement. The bricks looked slimy and lit with a bright green light from torches on the wall. She didn’t know how they made the fire green, but it looked cool. Maybe that was why it was so cold; maybe the green fire wasn’t as warm as normal fire. That sounded dumb, though.

Then Clara came to an abrupt stop, stumbling into one of her other housemates, while Alana stood in front of a brick wall. It looked kind of like the one in Diagon Alley but colder, danker. There looked like there were chains dangling on either side of the walls; they must be in the dungeons. She hoped it wasn’t this cold in their dormitories.

“Okay, now watch.” Alana pressed what looked like a brick at random.

A voice from out of nowhere hissed out, “Password.”

Alana’s lips pressed together in an annoyed scowl, and her brows furrowed. Then she sighed. “Blood traitor.”

This hissing voice gave a menacing laugh, like the kind of cackle the witches in horror stories or as villains in fairy tales might make. Clara shivered at the sound but pretended that it was just because she was so cold. Then the wall began to curl itself inward to reveal a huge room. Alana gestured with one hand and led them into the big room; as soon as Clara made it inside, the walled door curled shut again.

The big room inside was made of the same silvery brick as the outside, but here it seemed sleeker and less grimy. Large cast-iron globes hung in groups of three from an arched ceiling. Each globe seemed lit from within with a green light and gave off an emerald glow. There was a fireplace with a crackling green fire in one corner surrounded by black leather sofas with curved backs; Clara thought those were there more for looks than for actual comfort. Black chairs similar to the leather sofas were scattered about the big room, and on one end, there were large windows that looked out onto the lake outside. A merman with webbed hands and feet and great big eyes swam past and waved once at them. Alana waved back, and Clara followed her lead, even though standing that far in the back she was certain that the merman didn’t see them.

“Alright, boys room up the left stairway, and girls,” Alana gestured with one hand, “follow me, and I’ll show you your room.”

 _Room?_ Clara thought, but she followed Alana and the other girls nevertheless. When she got up the stairway, there were large beds covered in emerald green sheets with black comforters with silver paisley decorations and headboards of the same black leather design as the sofas and chairs in the common area. There were silver and emerald green pillows propped up against the headboards and black canopy curtains around each bed so that they could be cut off for some sort of personal privacy.

The other girls plopped down on the beds they wanted as Alana left the room – this, it seemed, was the room just for their year – and Clara took the bed closest to the window into the lake. There was a separate set of curtains to hide her bed from the lake; they were thicker and less silky than the others, and she guessed this was why the other girls hadn’t wanted it. But she _liked_ sitting next to the window, liked being able to look outside into the deep watery depths, liked to pretend that she wasn’t here at all.

There was only one bed next to hers, and Janet took that one. Within moments, their trunks appeared at the ends of their chosen beds, and instead of getting into her trunk for her pajamas like the other girls had, Janet got into an old picnic basket and pulled out the scrawniest cat that Clara had ever seen. He was bone thin, and his short black fur was matted in places. A chunk was missing from his right ear; one of his front legs was missing; and there was a scar straight through one of his eyes. The scarred eye seemed swollen shut, even when the other one opened up a bright, mottled golden green, the other one didn’t. He butted his head just under Janet’s chin and then leapt onto her bed, where he started kneading at the emerald blankets with his sharp claws. Clara could tell – he was ripping at the silky sheets, and Janet didn’t seem to mind!

Clara shivered again – and, again, it wasn’t from the cold – and nodded over towards the cat. “What’s her name?” she asked in an attempt to broker some sort of...not _friendship_ but at least liveable familiarity.

“Him.”

Clara blinked a couple of times. “Huh?”

“He’s a him. My cat’s a him.”

“Oh,” Clara said, and she sat down on the edge of her bed before pulling herself beneath the blankets. She hoped they were warmer than they looked. “Well, what’s _his_ name, then?”

“Cat.”

It was increasingly hard to hold a conversation with someone who didn’t appear to want to talk with her at all. Clara dragged the emerald sheets up to her chin and the comforter soon followed. She still felt cold, but she didn’t know why. Maybe it was the dungeons. Maybe she just wasn’t supposed to be here at all. “You named your cat Cat?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’ll hex you.” Janet suddenly turned to face Clara, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t care if you’re in my house or in the bed next to me or anything. If you make fun of me or hurt my cat, _I’ll kill you_.”

Clara’s lips pressed together. “ _Fine!_ ” she spat. “I was just trying to make conversation, but if you’re going to be a prick, I can’t really do anything about it!” She turned to face the window so that her back was towards Janet. She didn’t want to see her reaction. She didn’t _care_. Everything about being here was horrible and wrong. Luisa and Hermione had been nice, but they were in other houses, and she was stuck here in this one, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!

She heard footsteps just behind her, and Clara pulled on the edge of the curtains so they would separate her from the mean girl next to her. She didn’t want to talk to her anymore right now. Maybe not ever!

But the curtains didn’t really keep her from overhearing the girl on the other side of the curtains. She couldn’t make out what Janet was saying, but she guessed she was talking to the cat. _Cat the cat._ What sort of name was that? There were so many other, _better_ names she could have given him. Something majestic. Like…like _Apollo_ or something. But no. _Cat._ Just wait until she told Luisa. They’d have a good laugh about that!

But thinking about Luisa just reminded her that she was in this house alone. Here was this wonderful, magical castle of a place, and Elena had found a way to ruin it by trapping her in a dungeon! Maybe the hat had been right. Maybe she shouldn’t have listened to her. Maybe she shouldn’t have obeyed. If she hadn’t, maybe she would have been in a house with one of her friends instead of this horrible one.

Clara raised one hand and pressed it against the window. She’d thought the window would be just as cold as the rest of the dungeons were, but instead it was warm to the touch. She took a deep breath and curled up against her pillow. It was only then, as she noticed how wet her cheeks were against the pillow case, that she realized she was crying. And the thing is, when you are very small and you realize you’re crying, you suddenly find that it’s very hard to _not_ be crying. Soon, Clara was sobbing, trying so hard not to make any sound whatsoever because she didn’t want that mean Janet to overhear it.

Fortunately for her, Janet was either already asleep or was pretending not to hear her, and that allowed her to save some of her stubborn pride. Soon, Clara was asleep, her pillow soaked with her tears, unable to keep herself from thinking about the horrible situation she’d found herself in. After everything that had happened, she just wanted to be back at home with her mom. But it seemed like that wouldn’t happen ever again.


	7. House Compatability

When Clara woke up the next morning, a piece of candy was tucked beneath her pillow. It looked like an old-fashioned lollipop, all green and white swirled together with a thin strand of silver that became a glob in the center, like a huge wintergreen peppermint. Its plastic wrapping had a curlicue golden script embroidered with the name of some town she’d never heard of. Clara looked around to see who might have left it there, but each of the girls seemed preoccupied with what they were doing. No one was watching her to see her reaction.

 _Maybe it was Alana_ , she thought. _Maybe she left one for each of us._

So she left the lollipop beneath her pillow. Truth be told, Clara was worried that it would be all wintergreen-flavored, since that was what it looked like, and she didn’t like wintergreen – or peppermints – much at all. But it looked too shiny and tasty to be _really_ wintergreen, and it had that silver spiral through it that candy canes usually didn’t have. Maybe it was apple- or lime-flavored instead. She would certainly like that a lot better.

Clara pulled her black robes on over her jeans, black sweater vest, and short-sleeved white button-up shirt. It was all a little too fancy for her. The tie was even worse, and she refused to wear it, instead pulling some green, black, and silver ribbons from next to her bed and weaving them through her belt loops to make a little ribbon belt. It seemed that all of the other girls were taking some of Slytherin accessories from the top drawers of their dressers. They had yet to unpack their clothes, as they’d been too tired when they made it up to their rooms, but now they found all of it in their drawers and added it to their outfits. A tie here, a hair bow there, a scarf on one of them, but it was far too hot outside to wear scarves right now, in Clara’s opinion. It would be useful in the dungeon, sure, maybe, but in the rest of the castle? Absolutely not.

Janet had tried to put on one of the ties, but it didn’t look quite right. Clara hadn’t known how to tie one before this summer, but Elena had drilled it into her head. Maybe Janet hadn't practiced enough, or maybe she needed someone to teach her.

Clara watched as Janet used one of the emerald ribbons to play with Cat. Then she seemed to notice she was watching her and turned to her with a glare. “What?”

“Your tie.”

“What about it?” Janet growled, dropping the ribbon. Cat batted at it with his one front paw, his claws out, and then stopped and sat back on his haunches, watching them.

“You tied it wrong,” Clara said, her fingers fidgeting together. Janet had threatened her only just yesterday, after all. Not that she was scared of her or anything!

Janet continued to glare at her. “How do I fix it?”

“Fix it?” Clara repeated. She stepped forward and started to say, “Here, let me—” only for Janet to flinch away from her. Clara stopped with her hand outstretched. “I don’t know how to explain it without showing you, and it’d be faster if I just did it for you.”

Janet frowned. “How do I know you won’t make it look worse?”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t. You just trust me. Like I don’t stab you when you’re sleeping in bed next to me or something like that. Like maybe I don’t hex you just because you look funny.”

“I don’t hex people because they look funny,” Janet said, still frowning. “I just—”

“Whatever. It’s stupid. You can fix your stupid tie yourself.” Clara stormed out of the room and down the stairway into the common room. There were a few other students milling about, including the Draco boy with the white hair, but she ignored them. She was hungry. Probably there would be food in the room with the long tables if she went there. It was morning, so there should be breakfast soon anyway. She decided to go find something to eat.

It took way too long for Clara to find her way through the halls. She got a little bit turned around in the dungeons before she found the right stairway out of them – and she felt like she must have passed the corridor with the two chains on either side that indicated where the Slytherin dormitories were a hundred times before she made it out. Then she got lost until she found her way to what looked like the first room they’d been in when the big burly man had left them with the professor in the green robes, and then she knew where to go from there. Just to the right and—

The dining hall was full by the time Clara got there. Even Janet, who must have left long after Clara did, had already made her way to the Slytherin table. Clara did her best to ignore her, and instead of trying to sit next to one of the students in her own house and talk with them, Clara made sure to sit just next to where Luisa was at the other table. Luisa looked up just long enough to give Clara a smile, and then, when Clara sat half on the bench so that she could face her, Luisa very carefully did the same thing.

“Did you have a good night?” Luisa asked. She yawned once and rubbed her hand across her eyes. “We talked a lot, catching up with everything that happened over the summer. Did you get to know any of your new housemates?”

Clara scowled. “No. That girl who looks like you has the bed next to mine, and she’s mean. She threatened to kill me.”

“Oh,” Luisa said. She blinked a few times. “Didn’t you get to know any of the other girls?”

“No.” Clara shook her head. “Don’t want to. You’re my friend, and Hermione’s my friend, and our dormitory is all cold and scary. I wish I’d been sorted into your house instead.”

Luisa pursed her lips together. “Well, maybe you can talk to Professor Dumbledore about it. If you really don’t like your house, he might let you change.”

“Dumbledore?” Clara echoed. “Is he that guy who was making all those announcements after dinner?”

“Mmhm.” Luisa nodded. “He’s the headmaster, and he’s really smart.”

“He’s really _old_.”

“That, too,” Luisa said with a giggle. Then, all at once, food appeared on the tables just like it had during dinner yesterday. She glanced over to the big piles of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and powdered donuts. “Maybe you’re just not used to things yet. It took me a while before _I_ liked being here, and it wasn’t because anyone was mean or anything like that. I just missed my mom and my dad and my brother. It was hard being here away from all of them. But my dad sent me an owl every day to keep me updated, and I would send Agatha—”

Before Luisa could finish what she was saying, a tiny owl with big black eyes, a creamy front with black spots, and big, deep brown wings with cream spots the same as the feathers on its chest swooped down in front of Luisa. It nibbled on her fingers, and Luisa turned to it with a startled, “ _Oh!_ ” She giggled again and ruffled the little bird’s feathers. “This is Agatha,” she said, gesturing towards her owl. “And look!” She quickly untied a letter from her owl’s right leg. “She has something for me!”

Clara knew that Luisa wasn’t telling her to leave her alone, but she still felt like maybe she should. She tried to smile. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe things will be better in a few days, and I’m just not used to things around here.” She hated saying it, because she didn’t think it was true at all, but she didn’t want Luisa to feel bad. She turned back around to face her table, looking up and down to see if any of the others at her house seemed like people she’d like to make friends with.

But none of them talked to her, so Clara didn’t talk to them. It was easier to just eat her oatmeal and some bacon and toast than it was to try and talk with anyone, and with all of the owls flying about everywhere and leaving little notes for people, she felt left out. _She_ didn’t have an owl. There was no way Elena would ever let her have one of her own. And as much as she and her dad didn’t always get along, she wished she had an owl so that she could send him a letter and let him know how everything was going. Maybe if she had an owl, it would be able to find her mother, but she doubted that. Owls probably didn’t work that way. They probably couldn’t find people who didn’t want to be found.

An owl _did_ find her about halfway through breakfast and dropped a class schedule in front of her before stumbling to bring schedules to each of the other first years. It looked like there was a different one who left a schedule for the Alana girl who was supposed to be like their older sister, but other than noticing it, Clara didn’t really care. The schedule said that her first class was this morning – Defense Against the Dark Arts – and it listed a room, but she had no idea how to get there.

Clara turned back to Luisa and tapped her on the shoulder. “Luisa, do you know where this is?” she asked, holding out her schedule.

Luisa looked over Clara’s schedule and then back to her own. “Sure! I’ve got a free period this morning, so I can take you there if you want.” She smiled as she handed it back. “I could take some of the other girls, too, so that—”

Clara frowned. “Why does it matter if they come with us?”

Luisa blinked a couple of times. “Aren’t they going to want to know how to get there, too?”

“I guess.” Clara tilted her head over towards her prefect. “Alana can show them how to get there if it’s that big of a deal.”

“Then why not let her take you, too?”

Clara crossed her arms. “If you don’t want to show me where the room is, then you don’t—”

“That’s not what I said!” Luisa reached over and placed her hand on Clara’s arm. “I can show you how to get there! I _want_ to! I just don’t want you to not be friends with people in your house because you keep spending all of your time with me.” She frowned. “It’ll just make being in your house miserable if you don’t have any friends.”

Clara turned back to her table. Alana seemed nice enough, for a snitch, but she was sure that Luisa meant other first years. She already knew she didn’t want to be friends with Janet because she’d been nothing but mean and threatening, and the other girls all seemed blockish, boorish, and likely to be just as cruel as Janet was. A couple of them looked a little more put together, like female versions of the white-haired Draco with the sneer. They just reminded her of Elena.

“I’ll try during class,” Clara said, even though she wasn’t sure that she would. She’d always been better at tormenting her classmates than really being friends with them, and the friends she’d had were mostly boys and not girls. Maybe she could try and be friends with Draco, if she could get him to focus on something other than families and who was magic and who wasn’t. She could at least ask him about the Potter boy again, because he’d been starting to say _something_ when the headmaster – Professor Dumbledore, she reminded herself – had interrupted him. “But if I’ve already made a friend, I’d rather spend time with my friend instead of with people I don’t know.”

Luisa thought about that for a minute and then nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” She smiled again. “You’d call me a friend?”

“Of…of _course_ ,” Clara said without thinking about it. “You’ve been nice to me. Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

Luisa grinned all at once. “Well, then, _as your friend_ , I’ll show you how to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts.” She pulled back. “But you have to go with everyone else to your other classes. Even the morning ones.” She glanced down at Clara’s schedule and handed it back. “I don’t have any other free mornings, so I can’t take you to any of those.”

“Ok.” Then, all of a sudden, Clara had an idea, and she grinned. “You should walk with me to this class _every_ Monday! Then we can talk about our weeks and everything. Like real friends do!”

Luisa blinked a couple of times again, and then her grin grew even brighter, although if you’d have asked her before, Clara would have been certain that was impossible. “Yeah! I can do that!” She grabbed Clara’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I look forward to it!”

* * *

It didn’t take long for them to get to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. They left before the rest of the first years did, and after Clara got her books from her dormitory, Luisa took the time to show her the shifting stairwells and a few different routes to get to the room just in case things had moved so much that one of her normal routes was suddenly unusable. It took a little longer than it might have taken Alana with so many other students, but with just Luisa and just Clara, there was more than enough time. They didn’t talk about anything of much significance; Clara didn’t want to admit that she’d cried herself to sleep or anything so pitiful to her new friend, and while Luisa knew that Clara was miserable, she wanted to take her mind off of that instead of letting the other girl dwell on it. When they finally returned to see a bunch of the Slytherin first years just outside the classroom with what looked to be a lot of the Hufflepuff first years, Luisa gave Clara’s hand another squeeze.

“You’ll have fun,” Luisa said. “Don’t worry. Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of my favorite subjects last year.”

Clara nodded. “So the professor’s good?”

Luisa’s eyes shifted, and she shook her head. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. The last professor dropped out suddenly. Dad said there was a rush to find someone to replace her. Professor Quirrell’s supposed to be really good, though. They say he went all the way out to Romania to learn about Dark Arts and things from the vampires!”

“ _Vampires?_ ” Clara hadn’t done any reading at all, and even if she had, she still wouldn’t have believed that there were really vampires if Luisa hadn’t said so herself. Her eyes widened. “Are you sure he’s not one?”

Luisa shrugged again. “Haven’t seen any marks on his neck. Haven’t been close enough to look. I don’t think Professor Dumbledore would hire anyone super dangerous like a vampire or a werewolf to teach us, though. He’s supposed to keep us safe. Hiring a vampire wouldn’t be safe.” Then she turned and waved to the pretty blonde girl she’d been sitting next to the evening before. The girl wore the same badge that Alana had, so Clara guessed she must be a Hufflepuff prefect. Luisa took Clara’s hand and pulled her over to the blonde. “Clara, this is Bedelia! She’s a Sixth Year, and she’s one of the Hufflepuff prefects!” She gave Clara a huge grin. “Bedelia’s a particular friend. She’s like the Hufflepuff mom.”

Clara looked over the blonde girl with her perfectly curled hair and steely warm blue eyes. Her clothes weren’t as threadbare as the Weasley kids, but they looked almost like Janet’s – worn out and used – although hers seemed to be better tailored. When Bedelia held out her hand for Clara to shake, Clara noticed that her nails were a soft rose color.

“It is nice to see that Luisa has made another friend,” Bedelia said, taking in Clara’s appearance in a way that made the redhead feel as though she were transparent. Her eyes widened as she took in the green, black, and silver ribbons twisted through Clara’s belt loops, and she turned to Luisa with the slightest tilt of her head. “We should all be so compassionate.”

Luisa blushed a bright scarlet and looked down, scuffing the tip of her boot against the stone floor. “We met on the train, and you’re always telling us how we should be friends with people from other houses, and we were already friends, and she’s been really nice, and it’s not like—”

“Sorry for being a Slytherin.” Clara ignored Bedelia’s hand and shoved hers into her jean pockets, no matter how awkward that looked against her robes. “Not going to hex you or bite you or anything,” she said, staring down at the ground. “Or maybe I will in a few weeks. Maybe I just have to grow to be more like my house.”

“ _Clara._ ” Luisa knocked into her. “Don’t _say_ that!”

Clara stumbled to one side, and her head snapped up, blue eyes flashing. “What’d you push me for? I didn’t do nothing to you!”

“I wasn’t trying to _push_ you,” Luisa started. “I’m sorry! But—”

“No, you’re not!” Clara said, still standing off to one side. “You wouldn’t have said none of that if I weren’t in Slytherin, and you were the one saying some of us weren’t bad like all of us are.” She pressed her lips together in a thin scowl, and she shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, as deep as they would go, even with her books under one arm and her wand stuck between her thumb and her pocket. It wasn’t particularly comfortable. She turned her head away. “I think I’d better get to class.”

“ _Clara_ —”

But Clara didn’t say anything, instead turning away from Luisa and the Hufflepuff prefect and stalking through the crowd of other first years outside her classroom so that she could hide among them. It didn’t take long for the door to open, and all at once she was inside, staring at long benches with multiple chairs at each of them. She went immediately to the back of the classroom and curled up on one of the chairs, laying her head down on her hands. She kept her wand out, tapping it ever so slightly against the table the way she might with a branch she’d found somewhere, even though she knew that her wand wasn’t a branch. There were probably rules against treating her wand like this. Right now, she didn’t care.

As the other students filed into the classroom, Clara found the seats around her mostly avoided. She wasn’t sure if that was because she’d sat in the very back or just because the others had paid attention to her spat with Luisa and now didn’t want to sit with her at all. She hated this! It wasn’t _her_ fault she was in Slytherin. She wasn’t like the others in her house. She wasn’t bad! She wouldn’t be!

There was a loud _screech_ next to her as the wooden chair’s legs scratched across the stone floor, and Clara turned her head just enough to see Janet pulling the chair back and sitting down next to her. Clara sat up a little straighter, her wand at the ready, and glared at the other girl. “What do you want?”

“Just want to sit.” Janet looked over Clara’s wand as she placed her own on the table. Janet’s wand was lighter in color than Clara’s and far longer than hers, too, but it had a little spiraled dark knot on one end where the wand just bent for a little hand to hold. To Clara, it seemed just as ugly as the girl sitting next to her, not like her own rich, dark wood with the red undertones like the darker part of her hair.

Janet watched Clara staring at her wand, and when Clara noticed what she was doing, she stopped all at once. But Janet didn’t seem to mind, just put her books on the table next to it. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“My tie.” Janet looked down and fiddled with it the slightest bit, and now that she was messing with it, Clara could see that it looked much better than it had before. Now it even had a little snake-shaped pin on it. “I asked Alana if it looked as bad as you said it did, and she said it wasn’t _that_ bad and helped me fix it. So. Thanks. For telling me.”

“Wasn’t telling _you_. Would’ve told _anyone_. Just _happened_ to be you.” Clara slowly lowered her wand and crossed her arms on the tabletop again. “Doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything, so don’t go think we are. Don’t want to be friends with someone who threatened to kill me.”

“Didn’t think we were friends,” Janet replied, looking away from her and back toward the front of the classroom. “I’m not stupid.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine._ ”

But before their argument could devolve any further, the door to the classroom shut with what must have been a quiet sound and yet somehow it echoed through the entire room and silenced not just theirs but also any other conversations going on. All at once, there was a hush. Clara couldn’t say just why, but it frightened her. She sat up a little straighter again, wiggling herself in her seat, legs not quite long enough yet for her red sneakers to reach the stone floor, and tried to see the professor.

It was the guy in the turban who had been sitting next to Severus – _Professor Snape_ , Clara reminded herself, because it probably wouldn’t be nice to refer to professors by their first names – at the front of the dining hall, the man whose newspaper she had stolen. Then, just as suddenly as she noticed that, she smelled the strong scent of garlic and onions – like when her mother used to make spaghetti and meatballs and the best garlic bread she’d ever had – and even if Luisa hadn’t told her, she was certain in that moment that this weird turbaned man couldn’t be a vampire, even if he _had_ studied with them. Not because there weren’t marks on his neck or anything like that, but because his room smelled like something that was so bad for them. She looked around the room, trying to find sprays of holy water or little crosses that might be hanging up, too, but she couldn’t see anything like that.

“What’re you looking for?” Janet whispered, but Clara didn’t say anything.

Instead, Clara settled back into her chair. “Hush,” she said, making sure she faced Professor Quirrell directly instead of giving Janet even an ounce more attention. “The professor’s talking. You should be listening to him.”

* * *

The rest of the week, classes went much the same. Sometimes Clara sat with Janet (and she hated it), sometimes she sat with one of the other girls or boys in her house (and she didn’t hate it as much), sometimes she sat with Draco (and she quickly learned to tune out his idle self-important prattling), and sometimes, when she had classes with the Ravenclaws, she tried to sit with Susanna. This didn’t go over very well at first, but it seemed there were an odd number of first years in each of their houses, so that two people had to cross house lines and sit together anyway. The second time it happened, Susanna didn’t seem to mind as much, and the third time, they were almost friends, or as much as anyone could be with someone who wasn’t in their house, Luisa notwithstanding.

Clara actually didn’t get to see Luisa that much at all. Their free periods didn’t seem to match up, and instead of spending the time in her common room like most of the other first years, Clara took to exploring the castle instead. Luisa had given her the idea, sort of, because if everything was moving or _could_ move, it would probably be a good idea to find multiple routes to her classes. So she set about doing that.

Janet didn’t threaten her again, but she heard whispers of her threatening the other students. Having been threatened herself, it didn’t surprise her in the slightest, and sometimes she would butt in to tell others about her own experience with her. By Friday, Clara might not have been particularly liked in her house, but she wasn’t _hated_ the same way Janet was. There was a sense of relief in that. Not that it helped much.

The loneliness was even louder now than it had been the first day. She hadn’t made friends in her house like Luisa suggested she should, and since the little spat with Luisa, Clara had been avoiding her. She didn’t want Luisa to continue to be her friend _in spite of_ her house. She wanted Luisa to be her friend just because she wanted to be her friend! But she didn’t know how to say that.

Throughout each of her classes, Clara hoped that they’d end up with the Gryffindors, but it seemed like the professors were determined to keep their houses apart. They had a lot of classes with the Ravenclaws, a little less with the Hufflepuffs, and at first it seemed like they would have none with the Gryffindors at all.

But then came Friday and Clara’s first potions class….

* * *

Clara looked over her schedule for the last time and felt a little thrill of excitement. Not because she was particularly excited about her first subject for the day – _Potions_ – or about the length of it – her only double class in her entire schedule, and even _with_ the break in the middle, she knew she was going to have a hard time sitting still for that long and paying attention – but because _this_ class would be with the head of her house – Severus Snape, the man she’d met when she was with Elena shopping for all of her stuff. Out of everyone else, she thought that maybe, _maybe_ this guy, who was supposed to be the embodiment of the house, might be able to prove that Slytherins weren’t all bad.

Well. He _couldn’t_ be bad. He didn’t like Elena. That was a point in his favor. No one who disliked her stepmother could be bad in her book.

The Potions class was in the dungeons just like the Slytherin dormitories were, so it didn’t take long for her to find it, especially after having gotten so turned about that first day of classes. By now, she had gotten used to the cold and dank feel of her common room, which still felt chilly no matter how much green fire was burning, and while she wasn’t good about layering her clothes, she’d learned that keeping her scarf with her helped a bit with that constant cold. And it looked nice against her hair – the bright red frizzy curls against the emerald greens of the scarf – which was an additional plus. She thought that maybe none of the other house colors would look as good for her as the green did.

When she made it to the classroom, Clara was surprised and excited to find none other than Hermione sitting outside with a book in her hand, waiting for class to begin. It seemed like they were the only ones excited for their class; they’d gotten there so early that there was no one else around. She relaxed all at once. “Hermione!” she said, grinning. “Hi! I was hoping we’d have a class together!”

Hermione didn’t look up from her book at first, instead marking her place and setting it to one side with the rest of her books and supplies. Then she glanced over to Clara, who by this time had sat down on the stone floor next to her. “Hi, Clara,’ Hermione said, but something in her tone sounded different than it had on the train.

Clara couldn’t guess what it was, though, and rather than ask directly, she continued as though nothing was different, because for her, nothing was. “What have your classes been like? Quirrell’s room sure smells weird, doesn’t it?”

Hermione nodded once and cleared her throat and looked away. But there was no one else there to look at and nothing to serve as a worthy distraction, so she couldn’t avoid the questions entirely. “My classes have been fine.”

“You must have a lot of classes with Hufflepuff. We’ve got a bunch with Ravenclaw,” Clara continued. She wished there were a bench or something to sit on so she could swing her legs. The stone floor was _so cold_. “They’re smart just like you said they would be.”

“Mmhm.” Hermione’s eyes flicked around the corridor, but still no one came.

After a bit of this – trying to carry on a conversation but with no indication from Hermione that she wanted tocontinue, Clara said, finally, “What’s wrong with you? Do I got mud on my face or something?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Hermione said. She sighed and continued to look away. “It’s just that I’m in Gryffindor and you’re in Slytherin. We’re not supposed to be friends.”

Clara stopped and thought about that. She blinked a couple of times. “But we were friends just fine on the train.”

“But now you’re in _Slytherin_. Don’t you see how that changes things?”

“No,” Clara said. “You were my friend before on the train, and I haven’t changed any at all since then. Maybe _you’re_ the one who changed.” She crossed her arms and frowned. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t even _like_ my house.”

That got Hermione to finally turn to her with a shocked expression. “You don’t like your house?” she asked. “I thought _everyone_ did.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Clara focused on her stained red sneakers and began to move one of her feet back and forth just to make sure it wasn’t getting all pins and needles. “And Luisa and I are still friends,” she said, even though she knew that friends didn’t avoid each other and maybe friends was a _loose_ way to describe the current state of their relationship, but regardless, it wasn’t like _Luisa_ had stopped being friends with her just because she was in Slytherin and that was the point. “And if an older student in a different house thinks it’s fine for us to be friends, then _I_ think it’s fine for _us_ to be friends.”

Hermione opened her mouth as though to say something, but at just that moment, a gaggle of other students turned down the corridor into their part of the hallway and she just as quickly shut it again. Clara looked over to them and could tell by the red and gold of their ties that they had to be from Gryffindor. A couple of them, noticing Clara, glared rudely at her, and when they noticed Hermione sitting next to her, they started whispering among themselves, even though Hermione had picked up the book she’d placed to one side and started to read again. Clara thought about maybe scooting away from Hermione, but instead she stuck her tongue out at the Gryffindor students, who immediately moved to the other end of the door in an attempt to get away from her.

From that point, no matter what she did, Hermione wouldn’t talk to her again, and as more and more students approached, she almost gave up. It was only when Janet appeared with Draco and the gang he’d been slowly building that Clara nudged Hermione’s arm. When Hermione looked up with an annoyed expression, Clara pointed in Janet’s direction. “That’s the girl that looks like Luisa,” she said, “the one that Neville kid said threw his toad out of their car on the train.”

“Quit pointing!” Hermione exclaimed, pushing Clara’s hand roughly downward. “And don’t call him _that Neville kid_ , he’s actually—”

“Sorry, I haven’t had any classes with you so I wasn’t sure if—”

All at once, Clara could feel the weight of someone staring at her, and when she glanced back over to Janet, she caught the barest glimpse of dark eyes glaring in her direction before the other girl quickly looked away. At least her tie looked better today. In fact, it had consistently looked better since Alana taught her how to fix it, not that Clara would have told her otherwise. She frowned and turned back to Hermione. “She threatened to kill me, you know.”

“I’ve heard she’s threatened loads of people,” Hermione replied, whispering. “Hexes and jinxes and all sorts of things.”

“Yeah, but _killing_.” Clara looked over at Janet again and shivered. “I didn’t think anybody knew how to kill anyone yet. They haven’t taught you anything like that, have they? It hasn’t been in any of the books?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “If you _read_ the books—”

“I’ve been trying to read what the professors tell us to read! I just haven’t been reading ahead!”

Then, all at once, there was a loud creaking noise as the wooden door to the Potions classroom slowly opened. Clara held her breath as she waited, hoping that her head of house would come out and gesture for them to come into the classroom, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, there was a quiet hush in the hallway before, finally, the other students started into the classroom. Despite having been the first two to get there, Hermione and Clara weren’t the first into the class, and by the time Clara entered, the only spots left were in the back next to Janet and in the very front next to Hermione. As much as Clara didn’t want to sit in the front, which she’d learned from experience was a teacher’s favorite spot to pick on people to answer questions, she didn’t want to sit next to Janet again if she didn’t have to. Besides, she liked Hermione, so that made her choice easier.

Hermione gave her an unhappy look as Clara sat next to her. “I _told_ you, we’re not supposed to be friends.”

“Then let’s _pretend_ to not be friends but still be friends anyway.” Clara gave Hermione another look. “I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t like me just because I’m in a house you don’t like. You heard Luisa. We’re not _all_ bad. Besides, if you’re the kind of person who’s only friends with someone until some ratty old hat puts them somewhere you don’t like, then you need to sort out your priorities.”

“I don’t _not like you_ ,” Hermione whispered, her voice a thin hush, “I just—”

And then the room grew quiet.

It was an unnatural thing, a quiet classroom full of mostly eleven-year-old kids who would otherwise spend their time chattering amongst themselves, and yet it had happened without a word of quiet from the man now standing at the front of the room. Despite how everyone else was reacting, Clara felt herself relax with a sigh of relief. Here he would _prove_ that Slytherins could be good because _he_ would be good. She just _knew it_.

Roll call was nothing. Snape paused just long enough on Potter’s name for Clara to scratch out on a spare piece of paper _What is with the Potter kid? Why’s he so famous?_ and pass it over to Hermione, but as soon as she passed it over, Hermione scrunched it up in one hand without reading it at all.

Then Snape moved around his desk, hands tapping against each other, and it suddenly became clear to Clara just how _young_ her professor was, younger even than her stepmother. Not that it mattered – all teachers were teachers and _professors_ or whatever – but every now and again as he spoke, he brushed a hand through his greasy black hair, as though it were falling into his face when he didn’t mean it to do so, in that same sort of manner that she knew some of the older boys sometimes did when they wanted to look cool to any girls watching. She didn’t think that was what Snape was doing, though, because he most certainly did not look cool doing it.

“Potter!” Snape said, and Clara’s gaze moved to see the dark-skinned boy with the black hair that was just as unkempt as her own red curls just in time to see him jump in his seat. “What would I get if I added root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione jumped almost as much as Potter did as her hand whipped up into the air. Clara was glad she wasn’t sitting any closer to her. She wasn’t sure what those plants did where potions were concerned – she guessed Hermione did from reading the book cover to cover – but she knew them. Barely. Her mother had taught her quite a bit about them; it had just been _years_ since she’d used the language, and her memory was a bit rusty—

“Let’s try again,” _clearly, Potter had answered incorrectly_ , “where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Clara didn’t know that one, either, and didn’t really care, too busy trying to figure out what her professor was saying. She wrote the first question down – what she remembered of it – the asphodel and the wormwood – as Hermione sat up even straighter next to her. She understood this line of questioning, though, and when Snape asked a third time, “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” she nudged Hermione and said, her voice soft, “You should stop. He don’t want answers. He’s trying to make a different sort of point.”

But Hermione shot Clara a glare and stood up next to her, desperately trying to get their professor’s attention.

Clara actually knew the answer to this question. They were the same plant. She might not know anything about their importance with regards to potions, but she knew plants. In fact, something in that last question – and in her understanding the answer to it – unlocked what little she still remembered of her time with her mother a little more specifically, and that flower language, although not exactly _flooding_ back, returned to her enough for her to _mostly_ puzzle out what had intrigued her so much about that first question.

He wasn’t asking a question to see who knew the answer. He was saying something to see if anyone else knew what he was saying. And knocking the Potter boy down a peg, although she still didn’t know why he was doing that. It was like when teachers at her old school had asked _her_ questions when they knew she hadn’t done the reading or when they knew she’d been having trouble paying attention. It was mean. But it wasn’t any different than what other professors might have done.

Well, it _was_ , really, but it wasn’t the worst she’d seen a professor do.

As the class went on, Clara and Hermione were paired up to craft a potion. Clara thought they were doing fairly well, despite the constant praise of the white-haired Draco boy who clearly didn’t need any praising. Janet seemed to have been paired up with a gargoyle of a boy – one of the members of Draco’s little gang – and it seemed like for everything she did well, he screwed something up. But all of that was swept under the rug when Neville ended up getting himself covered with boils and sent to the hospital wing.

Class ended with no praise for either Clara or Hermione, despite the fact that they’d done quite well, in Clara’s opinion, and since Hermione didn’t seem to be particularly eager to stay behind and talk with her (Clara had hoped to ask her about the Potter kid again), Clara stayed behind alone. The only thing they had next was lunch – and everyone had lunch at the same time – so she knew that her professor would be free.

It didn’t take long before Snape seemed to notice she was still there, if he’d ever forgotten at all. “Miss Ruvelle,” he said, his voice that same sort of soft that Elena’s sometimes got when she was upset about something in particular, although Clara didn’t get the same threatening vibe from him that she did from her stepmother. “Is there something you need?”

“No,” Clara said, and her feet knocked together a couple of times as she stepped around her desk and closer to his, “but did you…did you _know_ you were using flower language earlier, or…or was that a mistake?”

Snape stopped shuffling his papers and looked up. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Earlier, the first question you asked the Potter kid, you asked about asphrodel and wormwood—”

“Asphodel.”

“ _Asphodel_ , right.” Clara bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “My mom – my _real_ mom – taught me a bit about flowers and flower language a really long time ago and if you take those two and mix them together, you get a….” She swallowed and took another deep breath. “It’s about deep regret and sadness about…. About someone _dying_ , right, and I just wondered if you _meant_ to be expressing that sort of thing to him or if it was something for someone else in the room to catch or….” Her voice faded away under her professor’s withering stare, and it seemed to her that however dark it might have been before, it felt darker now. “I thought maybe that was what you were really asking him and not the question about…about….”

“What was your mother’s name, Miss Ruvelle?” Snape asked, and his voice was that same quiet but this time, there was something familiar about it. She couldn’t put a finger on what it was, though.

“Marie,” Clara said, looking back up at him and blinking a couple of times. “My mother’s name was Marie Ruvelle. Rose Marie Ruvelle, but she didn’t like being called Rose. She liked being called Marie.” Her hands wrung together. “You must’ve thought I’d say I was Elena di Nola’s daughter, because she’s my stepmom, and she was with me when we ran into you in Diagon Alley, and I know she told you she wasn’t, and she’s _not_ my mom and she wouldn’t know what those flowers meant if I shoved them up her—”

“Your mother,” Snape interrupted before Clara could continue further, “was a marvelous potions master.” He drummed his fingers along the top of his desk. “I should wonder that language of hers might have had something to do with it.”

Clara gasped. She’d never known that about her mother. She opened her mouth, ready to ask him all sorts of questions about her, but before she could, Snape continued, “I think it’s time for you to go to lunch, Miss Ruvelle. You wouldn’t want to be late to your next class on account of our little…conversation.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Clara nodded once and bowed a little bit, although she hadn’t done anything like that with any of the other professors or in any of her other classes, and then gathered her things and left the classroom.

She was surprised to find Hermione standing outside the classroom, waiting on her. “Why’re you still here?” Clara asked. “I thought we couldn’t be friends because of my house.”

“Well, I thought maybe you were right,” Hermione said, “and I thought it’d be nice to walk to lunch together. You’d be okay with that, right?”

Clara couldn’t stop herself from grinning. New information from her mom _and_ getting to spend time with a friend? Today was the best day she’d had all week. “Of course!” she said. “And maybe….” She looked down and away. “Maybe we should talk to Luisa, too. I haven’t been very nice to her this week, on account of my house, and I’m sure that she’d like to hear what’s been happening with you, too. I’ve got next period free, if you do.”

Hermione seemed to relax. “I’d been planning on going back to the library, but I think spending some time catching up would be really nice.”

“You’ve been to the library already?” Clara asked, shocked. “I don’t even know where it is!”

“I got one of the Gryffindor prefects – Percy Weasley – to show me where it was. It’s nice and quiet in there for studying, and they’ve got _loads_ of books on anything you want to study about.”

There was something on the tip of Clara’s tongue – something she’d _wanted_ to look up – but she couldn’t remember what it was now. Still, she and Hermione walked together to lunch, and all in all, it seemed like things would be going a lot better now than she’d thought they would.


	8. Flying Lessons

Luisa forgave her. In fact, Luisa felt bad for what she’d said. She hadn’t meant for it to come across that way; she hadn’t meant to sound like she was somehow better because she’d made friends with a Slytherin. She’d liked Clara as she was, and she hadn’t tried to talk with her because she thought Clara was quite right in being upset with her and the stumbling bumbling of her tongue. _And_ she was glad that Clara and Hermione still wanted to spend time with her!

Then – _then_ – Luisa mentioned something that Clara had never known to consider, and she did it in a very simple form of question, “Do you know when you’re going to be taking flying lessons?”

Every day since then, Clara waited eagerly for some indication that flying classes would start soon. Hermione seemed less enthused, and nothing Luisa said about it made her feel better. In fact, it seemed to make her feel worse – all the _rickety, old brooms_ even if they barely floated a few feet off the ground – until Hermione had made her stop.

But Clara took every opportunity she could to badger Luisa with questions. Maybe it was because her last memory of her mother involved the possibility of flying, or maybe it was because the magic she’d used that first day had allowed her to float without any broom at all. Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but be excited!

That said, when she found out their flying lessons would be with the Gryffindors, Clara felt a bit of apprehension. She wasn’t worried about Hermione; they could stand next to each other and maybe, if she was good enough, she could help Hermione calm down. It was that Potter kid that she was really worried about. There wasn’t much opportunity to ask Luisa or Hermione about him, and when there was, Clara was so caught up in their conversation that she didn’t think about it until later. But if he really was some sort of wizarding sport prodigy – because she could think of nothing else he could be – he _had_ to be good at flying. Maybe he would be so good at flying that he wouldn’t have to take the class at all!

But when Clara made it to the great lawn for their class, there he was, standing next to the kid who Draco had singled out as a Weasley, his bright green eyes darting around at everyone. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, and Potter gave her a small, awkward sort of smile. It was a lot nicer than the horrible sneering that Draco made whenever he talked about his own great flying skill – it was impossible to be in classes with him without overhearing him bragging about it in one form or other. By comparison, the Potter kid’s smile was almost _charming_ in its own way. She made sure to look away before the gangly Weasley kid could catch her eye, though. There was something about him she didn’t like, something that made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t say just what it was, though.

Most of the students were separated into two lines by house – one line for the Gryffindors and one for the Slytherins – with Draco and his gang standing almost completely opposite to Potter, Weasley, and Neville. Instead of falling into those regimented roles, though, Clara stood next to Hermione and gave her a bright grin until, to her great displeasure, Janet chose to stand next to her instead of with Draco and his gang.

“Why’re you over here?” Clara asked, giving Janet a frustrated, annoyed look. “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“They’re not my friends,” Janet said, keeping her eyes trained on the broomstick next to her. It was thin, and the strands in the brush were all prickly and half-broken and bent. A few bits stuck out of the wood like splinters.

Clara frowned. “If they’re not your friends, then why do you keep sitting with them?”

“Where else would I sit?”

Clara opened her mouth without a retort ready but was startled from replying when Hermione nudged her arm. She whirled around to face Hermione and saw Madam Hooch, their short imp-like teacher with short gray hair, golden eyes, and what looked like pointed ears, staring at them. She shuffled her feet a little bit as Madam Hooch hustled the other students toward the broomsticks they would be using, but she couldn’t stop a grin from breaking across her face. This was it! They were finally going to learn how to fly!

Madam Hooch strode to the front of the lawn. “Alright, everyone! Hands out over your brooms, and say **UP**.”

Clara snapped her hand out over her broom – which was not as rickety as Janet’s seemed to be, instead more of an old racing broom with blue and white paint chipped all along its stem like some of the paintbrushes she had used back at her elementary school – and, staring straight at the broom, yelled, _“Up!”_ just like the professor had told her to do.

The broom hesitated, as though it didn’t think it had heard her correctly, and then jumped up into her right hand. It spun as much as it could in her semi-loose grip, as though it were Janet’s cat butting his head against her hand and wanting attention.

Clara laughed at the feel of the broom in her hand and then turned to face Hermione, whose broom only rolled about lazily in the grass. “ _You’re_ having _trouble_?” she asked a little too loudly.

Hermione’s head snapped up, and she gave Clara a weak glare. “I can’t be good at _everything_ , you know.”

Clara just laughed again and turned to Janet, who was staring white-faced at her own broom. Then she looked down at the ground. If anything, the broom seemed to have flipped over so that it was even further away from her. “Do you need help?” she asked, her eyes bright.

Janet looked over to her and swallowed once before nodding rapidly.

“Too bad,” Clara said, unable to keep from grinning. “Not anything I can do to help you.”

“How’d you get your broom up so fast?”

Clara shrugged. “I’m just good at this, I guess.”

It took a few tries before Hermione’s and Janet’s brooms made it to their hands. Janet’s obeyed first; as soon as she began to use the same threatening voice on it that she used towards anyone she suspected was hurting Cat, it obeyed at once. Admittedly, it also shoved a splinter straight into the palm of her hand – Clara could tell from the wince and the way Janet picked the long, slender sliver out of her palm as they waited for more instruction – but it at least obeyed her command. Hermione’s, on the other hand, took a few tries before Clara looked over at her and, with a dead stare, told her to use the same voice she did when she was correcting her in class.

“ _Explaining_ ,” Hermione corrected, which only made Clara give her another flat stare.

“Well, you can’t really _explain_ to a broom why it should jump into your hand. You got to _tell_ it.” Clara stood with her broom in her hand, having not quite let it go this entire time. “Like correcting its behavior.”

“That’s not what you did.”

“No, but I don’t _have_ to do that. My broom came to me anyway.” Clara propped her free hand on her waist. “You just got to learn how to call yours to you.”

And with that little bit of help, Hermione _explained_ to the broom that it should be in her hand. After a nice long rant, this time, when she said, _“Up!”_ the broom floated hesitantly into her outstretched hand, as though it _thought_ that was what she wanted it to do but still wasn’t quite sure about it.

Once everyone had managed to get their brooms up, Madam Hooch instructed them to mount them. Clara was surprisingly gentle with hers, even though she held onto the stem firmly, and she watched with wide eyes as their flying professor came around correcting the others’ grips. As Hooch corrected Hermione’s grip, Clara did what she could to fix hers and match Hermione’s new one, so that their professor didn’t have much work correcting it. Janet, on the other hand, hadn’t gripped her broom at all, holding it in place between her thighs and waiting for her hold to be fixed for her. Once it was, she held onto the stem so tightly that her knuckles turned a bright white, whiter even than Hermione’s.

Then, when Madam Hooch had fixed everyone’s holds ( _everyone’s_ , even the Potter boy, who Clara had watched moving his hands the slightest bit and nodding with understanding as the professor spoke, and Draco, who’d needed much more change and glared at the professor as she left, changing his grip back to what it had originally been), she moved back to the front of the lawn, her whistle spinning around her finger. She came to a stop in front of the two lines of students, who were a mixture of frightened and excited.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you’re going to kick off from the ground _hard_.” Hooch’s eyes moved up and down the two lines of students, and her whistle’s spin grew tighter. “Keep your brooms steady, rise _a few feet_ ,” and here she emphasized those last words, as though she’d grown tired of braggarts, like Draco, who thought they’d show off to everyone else, “and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly.”

 _Lean forward to go down_ , Clara thought, holding tightly onto her broom. If _forward_ meant _down_ , then _back_ must mean _up_. Not that she was going to try and push her luck right now. She was afraid that if she didn’t obey this professor, she’d lose the opportunity to continue her flying lessons or become permanently grounded or something, and she didn’t want to risk it at all. She would just keep it in mind.

Hooch’s whistle spun straight into her hand, and she began to count down. Clara could hear the numbers ringing in her ear – _Three, two, one—_

_And then there was a shout._

Clara jumped – just enough for her broom to float about the ground a few centimeters, even without the whistle, and she couldn’t stop a bright smile from beaming across her face – and then she looked around to see what was going on, unintentionally leaning her broom forward just enough for her to land on her feet again. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed to have landed, until she saw who she _guessed_ was Neville – he was so far up now that she couldn’t really make anything out – flying higher and higher until he slipped off his broom.

He fell to the ground with a large _thwack_ and the sound of something snapping. Hermione turned away, but Clara kept staring. If _she’d_ fallen that far, she’d probably have busted her head wide open!

But Madam Hooch just pulled him up on his feet. Neville cradled his wrist against his chest, and while Clara could see that their professor was saying something, she wasn’t close enough to hear what that was. Then Hooch turned to face them, her eyes flashing a dark gold. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say _Quidditch_.” Then she led Neville back into the castle without another word.

Well. Leaving the broom where it was meant that Clara got to stay on it. That wasn’t too bad. She flexed her hand on the stem, correcting and recorrecting her grip, and then jumped off the ground again – just that little bit like she had before, so that she hovered just barely above the ground – enough to be _flying_ but still in place.

“Clara, stop!” Hermione said, reaching over just enough to smack her right arm. “You’re going to get yourself expelled!”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to _move_ , Hermione.” Clara stuck her tongue out at her. “You could get expelled for that!”

Hermione’s face grew white, and she scowled. “I won’t get expelled for trying to get you to—”

“Give it _here_!”

Clara whirled around to follow the shout, and she saw the Potter kid – who, up until that point, had seemed like the sort of kid who’d follow what the professor had said, not because he was scared of being expelled, like Hermione was, but because he didn’t see any particular reason not to – grabbing onto his broom with one hand. She followed his gaze to where Draco – _of course, it was Draco_ – had already flown up towards the top of a tree, where he whirled around and sneered at the other boy.

Hermione realized what was going to happen before Clara did and made a move to grab Potter, but she wasn’t close enough to stop him. That said, with both of the boys flying, Clara made a move to kick off as well. If _they_ were flying, then _she_ wanted to fly, too! Besides, she wanted to know what was going on!

But Hermione was much closer to her than she was to Potter, and she grabbed a tight hold of the tip of Clara’s broomstick, holding her in place. “ _No!_ ” she said, her voice a rough hush. “Don’t _you_ go getting us into trouble, too!”

“ _Hermione!”_ Clara struggled against her grip. “ _Let me go!_ ” She tried to jump up, but with the additional hand holding it in place, the broom wouldn’t move at all. Her gaze followed the boys, who seemed to be flying ever higher, and eventually, she swatted at Hermione’s hand and pushed it away. Then, finally, with a deep breath, she started to get back into position to jump off and join them.

“ _Stop._ ” Janet held her wand out, pointed in Clara’s direction, and glared at her. “I’ll hex you, and you’ll fall, and you’ll get hurt, and then Madam Hooch will know, and you’ll get expelled.” Her eyes flicked briefly up to the boys overhead before returning to Clara. “Stay here. Just because _they_ know how to fly doesn’t mean—”

“ _But how am I going to learn if I don’t—_ ”

“HARRY POTTER.”

Clara whirled around and looked over Hermione’s shoulder so that she could see what was going on. Draco had already landed a few feet away, and Potter had just tumbled to the ground, his broom hovering in the air just next to him. There was something in his hand, something made of glass and that seemed to be filled with red smoke. Entering the lawn was none other than Professor McGonagall, the witch who had greeted them in the front hall before their sorting. She seemed to have come from nowhere and also seemed to be completely _livid_.

“ _Told you_ ,” Hermione whispered, nudging Clara again. “It’s a good thing you didn’t start flying everywhere. _You’d_ be in trouble, too.”

Clara stuck her tongue out at Hermione again as Potter was led off the lawn. McGonagall passed Madam Hooch as she led him inside, and then everything seemed to go back to normal – or as normal as a flying class could be. By the end of the period, Clara had been able to get a few feet into the air and zoomed back and forth – and she loved it _just_ as much as she thought she would. She hadn’t wanted to stop it at all!

But as much as she enjoyed flying, once the class was over, her mind kept being drawn back to that Potter boy, who had gotten into trouble and who so many other kids seemed to be so interested in. She returned her broom to Madam Hooch with an unhappy sigh and then quickly caught up to Hermione, who had gone inside almost at once.

“Wait!” Clara called out as she ran after her.

Hermione stopped just inside one of the corridors, brushing dirt off of her robes. “What?” she asked. “Don’t get mad at me for stopping your broom.”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Clara shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, which was still just as uncomfortable as it had been before. Robes weren’t really built for that sort of use, and to be honest, it made her dislike wearing the robes. “You have to tell me – why’s everyone so into that Potter kid? The one in your house? Is he some famous sports prodigy or something?”

Hermione gave her a weird look, her mouth opening the slightest bit as though she weren’t thinking at all. “You really _don’t_ know anything, do you?”

“I know things!”

But Hermione just shook her head and started off down the hallway. Clara quickly moved to follow her. “You’re going to tell me who he is, right? He _is_ into sports or something like that, right?”

“ _Not at all_ ,” Hermione said in a quick hush. “I don’t know how you could make it here without knowing who Harry Potter is and how you have completely missed everything everyone’s been saying about him for the past _month_ —”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“Well, I suppose for you, it’s not.” Hermione let out a deep breath and glanced upwards toward the arches of the castle’s stone ceiling. “Come on. I have some studying I want to do in the library, and that’ll be as good a place to tell you as anything.”

Clara followed Hermione, one hand still shoved into her jeans pocket, the other holding tightly to her wand. She hadn’t realized Potter was that amazing. If _Hermione_ said he was a big deal, then Clara _knew_ it couldn’t have anything to do with wizard sports teams. It had to be some big wizarding history lesson.

On second thought, maybe she didn’t really want to know about Potter after all. Not if Hermione was just going to make her read a bunch of books on the subject. She really should have just asked Luisa.

* * *

Hermione led Clara up to the library, which seemed to be nearing the same level of ancient dust that Ollivander’s had, and the two of them sat at one of the tables left empty by other students, one on either side. There were a stack of books on one end of the table. All of them seemed old and dusty, as though they’d been there for a long time, even though Hermione assured her that they’d probably just been left there by some other student who had been studying or researching or something and hadn’t thought to check them out. Clara wasn’t sure she believed her. She scooted a little further away from the stack of books and then leaned forward, propping her elbows up on the table.

“So this Potter kid—”

“Harry.”

“ _Yeah, the Potter kid_ ,” Clara continued, completely ignoring Hermione’s correction and the sudden, unimpressed glance upward that the bushy-haired girl gave her, “why’s he so special? He doesn’t _look_ special to me, other than that big scar he’s got on his head.” She’d finally seen it a little more properly as he was taken away by Professor McGonagall – that bright, shining white strike of lightning against his dark brown skin. It was a _cool_ scar by any definition of the word. Clara only had a couple of scars herself, one on the underside of her right knee from one of Elena’s many, many punishments and a small blobby patch on the inside of her left wrist from a burn. Both of her scars were mostly concealed by all of her freckles; a lighter splotch among all the darker splotches just faded in.

Hermione sighed. “How much do you know about Voldemort and the Death Eaters?”

There was a sudden loud clack of a book falling flat against a tabletop, and Clara looked over to the table next to them, where an older girl with bright yellow hair gave them a wide-eyed stare. Clara didn’t see anything wrong with what Hermione had said, but the girl cleared her throat, and Hermione corrected herself, “I mean, _You Know Who_.”

The girl gave a quick little nod and went back to her book as Hermione rolled her eyes. Clara’s brow furrowed. “But I _don’t_ know who! Is that Voldey what’s his name or the Death Eaters?”

Hermione suppressed a snort at Clara’s comment before answering, “That’s Volde—” She turned over to the yellow-haired girl next to them, who had gone back to watching them with wide eyes, then turned back to Clara with another roll of her eyes. “ _You Know Who_ isn’t the Death Eaters. It’s singular. Death Eaters is plural.”

Clara frowned. This was stupid, not using someone’s name. The only reason to do something like that was when you wanted to talk about someone and they were in the same room as you and you didn’t want them to know that you were talking about them! Or sometimes when you _did_ want them to know but you wanted to _pretend_ that you didn’t. Kids had done that to her a lot after her mother left. She’d rather they had just talked about her by name. Being referred to as _you know who_ just made her feel like less of a person. “It’s not nice to refer to him that way.”

“Well, he wasn’t a very nice wizard,” Hermione said. She pulled out one of her books and flipped through a few pages. “What I can get from my reading is that he got a lot of other witches and wizards to follow him – those were the Death Eaters – and then he tried to take over the wizarding world. He wanted to make Muggles, like my mother and father—”

“—and my dad,” Clara inserted, her voice soft.

“—he wanted to make them slaves. He thought that witches and wizards, because they were more powerful, shouldn’t have to hide themselves from lesser Muggles.”

“But Muggles _aren’t_ lesser!” Clara exclaimed. “Just because my dad can’t do magic doesn’t mean he can’t do anything good.” Then she had to stop. Her dad hadn’t been the greatest since her mother had left. He’d been drinking a lot, and before Elena got there, he’d been mad with her for not being able to control her magic. Her abilities had gotten her into a lot of trouble. But if witches and wizards _were_ more powerful, then maybe they _shouldn’t_ be hidden. She could see some truth in that.

“I agree,” Hermione continued, “but there were a lot of witches and wizards – and I know you hate to hear this, but a lot of _Slytherins_ – who agreed with him. They started a war, and a lot of people were hurt or killed. They were cruel. They tortured anyone who was against him, and there were so many people with him and he was so powerful, that people didn’t know how they would beat him. Everyone was really scared.

“Then, for some reason, he went to kill Harry. Harry was a baby at the time, barely more than a year old, but Volde– _You Know Who_ went after him.”

“A _baby_?” Clara echoed, her eyes wide. No matter what his reasons, it was never good to go after a baby. Her lips pressed together. “And no one knows why?”

Hermione shook her head. “He killed Harry’s mum and dad, but when he went to kill Harry, something happened. He wasn’t able to. And all of a sudden, You Know Who disappeared, and Harry was left all by himself, with nothing but that scar to show for it. Most people think You Know Who is dead. Some of them don’t. Like with villains in comic books or tv shows.” She leaned forward, flipping through the pages of the book she’d laid on the table in front of her. “That’s all the books I’ve read will tell me about it, though, and there hasn’t been much here that’s current enough to tell me any more than that.” She sighed. “I’ll have to look into possibly going back to Diagon Alley over Christmas if I want to learn anything more.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Clara said. “I’m sure Harry will tell you what he knows, especially since you’re in his house.” She’d ask him herself, but with the whole anti-Slytherin thing the other houses had going on, she didn’t think he would tell her. Besides, she wouldn’t tell some random stranger about what happened with her mom, either, and it wasn’t near that complicated.

Hermione just shook her head. “They don’t like me very much. I’m a know-it-all.” Her voice trembled the slightest bit, but she swallowed once and forced herself to smile. “But it’s nothing new. The kids at my old school thought the same thing. I’m just _smart_ is all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being smart!” Clara exclaimed.

The girl with the yellow hair gave a great cough and glared at Clara, who guessed that she was being too loud and excited for a library. She took a deep breath and forced herself to whisper. “We’re at a magical castle with a whole _house_ dedicated to smart people. There’s nothing wrong with your being smart.”

“But the hat didn’t put me there,” Hermione said with an unhappy sigh. “So I guess I’m smart but not smart enough.” She shrugged and sniffled once. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. And anyway,” all at once her voice became a lot more confident, even though she was still speaking in a whisper to stay quiet in the library, “Harry was a baby when it happened. He probably doesn’t remember anything at all.”

“You won’t know until you ask him.”

But Clara knew better than to try and push the matter. She leaned back on the palms of her hands, fingers clenching on the back edge of her wooden bench. It was worn smooth from so many people sitting on it, every splinter pushed into place, unlike the brooms they’d used earlier, which seemed as though their constant use only made them more feral, like she was. “I guess that makes sense, then. Why everyone likes him. Or is interested in him. He took down that great big mean wizard and everything. Not sports at all.” She didn’t even know what sports wizards liked anyway. Probably something with brooms. Maybe if she’d paid more attention to Draco, he’d mention it – maybe he already had and she just missed it.

“Hermione?” Clara said, finally, after thinking for a while without being able to come to any sort of conclusion.

The other girl looked up from the book she’d already begun to read and tucked some of her bushy hair back out of her face. “Yeah?”

“You know _we’re_ friends, right? And I don’t care if you’re a know-it-all or not. You’re nice to me, and that’s more important.” Clara scowled. “Those people in your house are just stupid for not noticing that.” She leaned forward. “And you can tell them I said that, and if any of them are making fun of you, you send them to me, and I’ll find a way to get Janet to hex them.”

“Don’t do that!” Hermione said. “I don’t need anyone in my house getting hexed on account of me.” But there was a smile on her face that hadn’t quite been there before, and she seemed to relax despite it. She put the book she was looking at away and pulled out another one from what seemed like nowhere. “How have you been getting on with our Potions homework?”

Clara’s scowl deepened. “ _Horrible_ ,” she said. “There’s other stuff that keeps getting in the way of it all.” She hadn’t told Hermione about the flower language. After that conversation with Snape, it had seemed like it was something she ought to keep to herself. The problem was that the things she knew from that kept getting in the way of her trying to understand the potions themselves, quite like learning another language. She couldn’t really explain that to Hermione, though. “How’s yours going?”

“I keep changing it. Adding to it.” Hermione’s fingers tapped on the table a few times. “I’m not sure what he wants, whether it’s all on proper techniques or historical uses or….” Her voice faded away, and she grinned as she noticed Clara’s eyes glazing over.

Clara shook her head once, trying to get herself to focus again. “Do you think you could explain some of that to me? I keep looking at it, but I just can’t seem to get it.” She didn’t say it, either, but since Snape had mentioned how good her mother was at potions, it only made Clara wish _she_ could be good at potions, too – like if her mom was good at it, then maybe she’d make her mom proud of her if she was, too. But she didn’t know how to explain that either.

“Of course.” Hermione patted the bench next to her and gestured for Clara to come join her. “Show me what you’ve got already, and I’ll see if I can help.”


	9. Halloween

The next day, the rumors began: Harry Potter, _the boy who lived_ , had been made seeker on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team! The rumor started from one of the other students in Oliver Woods’s class – started _in_ the class, in a half-amused, half-joking whisper from one kid to the other – and then spread from there. Now, the thing about rumors is that they spread like _wildfire_ , no matter how true they are. This particular one happened to guess at the truth, but it was embellished because no one _knew_ the truth.

Some people suggested that Potter was taking extra flying lessons to make sure that he was extra prepared for his first Quidditch match. Others brought up that he was too young, that first years weren’t allowed to be Quidditch players, so they just had to be shaping him up for next year. A few thought that whatever he’d done against Voldemort he would use against his opposition on the field. And every now and again, you heard that he had taken up a different position, but most of the rumors seemed to converge on his being seeker – a theory that only grew stronger when someone, tasked to clean trophies in the dungeon, noticed that Harry’s dad had been seeker, too.

The rumor was only amplified when Potter received a package that looked like a broom one morning during breakfast. He and the Weasley boy took it without opening it and escaped from the dining room followed by Draco and his two main goons. Clara followed shortly after. She saw them fight but didn’t care about any of that so much as she cared about the broom. _She_ wanted a broom! The jealousy bubbling in her chest grew so much she could almost taste it like bile on the back of her tongue. Clara didn’t even know what Quidditch was, but she knew that it involved flying, and she knew that it wasn’t fair for Potter to be allowed to play.

But special kids got special treatment. It was just like being at her old school all over again. Every professor had their favorites, and of course, the boy who saved the magical world when he was just a baby would be anybody’s favorite.

The one exception to this was Potions. Clara continued to partner with Hermione, who seemed to suddenly share her disdain of Potter and his best friend, although she never explained why. Professor Snape might have been particularly hard on Potter and his friend, but where she might have been moved to pity them before (and even might be moved to pity Potter now – after all, she knew what it was like to have lost her mother), the fact that things suddenly seemed to just fall into place for him made her feel justified in her dislike. She didn’t go out of her way to bash him the same way that Draco and his friends did, but still, she couldn’t help but think there was an element of truth to their hatred.

It was hard to like someone who seemed to be given the world on a golden spoon for something that Hermione thought he didn’t even remember.

“Maybe he’s jinxing them,” Clara said to Luisa one fall afternoon as they walked out on the grounds. The weather had been slowly growing colder over the past few months, and the leaves on the trees in the Forbidden Forest had begun to change from green to a mixture of red and gold and orange – some were even an interesting twinge of blue and purple that Clara had never seen in other forests or on other trees; she’d guessed it had something to do with magic or even that there might be some special trees in the forest that didn’t grow anywhere else, and she wondered what those plants’ names were. Some of the leaves flew on breezes to the grounds themselves, and every now and again as they walked, there was a satisfying crunch as Clara’s boot found one of them. She still wore her summer robes; she was from the mountains where it was colder more often, so this change in temperature wasn’t bad enough for her to want anything more than her scarf. She couldn’t wait for it to start snowing. Maybe the lake would freeze over like the river next to her house, and she’d be able to skate or ice fish. She might not have any of the stuff she needed with her, but she was certain there had to be some skates or fishing poles around the castle. And if not, she could try to magic some to her!

Luisa, on the other hand, was bundled up in her winter robes, despite the fact that it wasn’t all that cold yet. Her gold and black scarf was wrapped tight around her neck, and she wore thick black leather gloves on her hands. If asked, she said they were for one of her classes to protect her hands from really sharp instruments, but that wasn’t the full truth. Even if it was, she didn’t need them for just walking on the grounds. The wind blew playfully through her wavy brown hair, stirring it so that the lighter shades shone surrounded by all the deeper, burnt brown. Every now and again, one of the leaves would just catch in her hair, and Clara would reach over and pluck it out, rubbing her thumb across its veins and looking curiously at its color. Sometimes she would name them, just to show off.

“I don’t think he’s jinxing anybody,” Luisa mumbled around her scarf. She gave a great shiver as they walked.

Clara’s face contorted into a half-bitter, half-unhappy expression. “Then how do you explain it?” she asked. “How come _he_ gets a broom and a spot on the—”

When she struggled to remember the right word, Luisa supplied it for her easily enough. “Quidditch.”

“—right, Quidditch. How come he gets to do that and no one else does?”

Luisa stopped just by the edge of the lake and looked up, letting out a breath that she hoped would turn into a cloud in the air. But alas, nothing. “They have try-outs for Quidditch. Maybe he was just that good.”

“But first years don’t _get_ to try out.”

“Normally, no.” Luisa crossed her arms so that her hands were tucked into the warmth of her armpits. “Can we sit? It’s cold out here.”

“Oh, sure.”

Luisa pulled a red-and-white checkered square out of her pocket and then with a swish of her wand, it unfolded into a large blanket for them to sit on. Then she curled up on one side, leaning against the large tree just on the edge of the lake. Clara followed suit, but she sat a little closer to the edge of the blanket, picking up bits of grass and leaves and then tearing them as Luisa spoke.

“Have you gotten any letters from your dad yet?”

Clara looked down at the dirty brown leaf in her hand. There was a satisfying crunch as she tore a bit of it off and crumpled it in her hand. “No.”

“No owls or anything?”

“No.” Clara shook her head. “I don’t think he knows how to send one. Elena wouldn’t teach him, I don’t think, and I didn’t ever see her use one. Maybe she’s got some other way of sending messages and letters and things.”

“I don’t think so. Owls are pretty standard.” Luisa picked at the lint on their blanket, little bits of collected fluff mostly on the red squares that didn’t show up as well on the white ones. “Elena wasn’t mad, was she, running into us when you were shopping?”

Clara looked up. It had been months since they’d met in Diagon Alley, so she didn’t know why Luisa was bringing it up now. “Elena’s _always_ mad,” she said, trying to sooth the frustrated, worried expression on Luisa’s face. “I don’t think seeing you made it any worse. She didn’t like that I’d run off, but I’d do it again! I liked seeing the birds and cats with you.”

Luisa seemed to settle and relax, and then she grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty nice.” She moved a little closer to Clara as she spread out on their blanket. “And you’re liking school here better now, right?”

“It’s better than it was.”

But Clara still didn’t have any friends in her house. To be fair, she hadn’t really tried much, and it made her classes really lonely. When they were with Ravenclaw, she tried to pair up with Susanna Barnett as much as possible, and she always paired up with Hermione in Potions, but sometimes Susanna went off with one of her friends from her house, and that left so many of her classes open. Who Clara ended up with mostly depended on luck and who was free; it shifted. After the first week or so, Draco had realized that Janet was a lot smarter than the two boys who hung around him all the time and started partnering up with her instead. Neither of them seemed to really like each other, but Draco liked to say that he and Janet were friends and that he could get her to hex whoever he wanted if they were mean to him. Clara didn’t know what to think about that. Janet mostly closed the curtains around her bed when they were in the Slytherin dormitories, and the most Clara could hear was the occasional harsh bark of a laugh after a loud _oomph_ sound – probably just her playing with Cat the cat.

Cat was almost as mean and stringy as Janet herself was. He wouldn’t let anyone else pet him, and if you got too close, he would hiss and attack with his one front paw, claws out. Clara hadn’t gotten scratched by him, but a couple of the other girls had. The only thing that kept them from getting back at him was their overwhelming fear of Janet. She’d proven herself to be really good at Charms as well as other classes focusing on wandwork, and every now and again, she would “accidentally” send a spell in the wrong direction, usually at someone who had been whispering about Cat.

In fact, the only real threat to Janet’s pet was Mrs. Norris – the pet cat of the castle’s caretaker, Argus Filch. Whenever the two cats ran into each other, there was spitting and hissing and fighting, and while Cat was easily the scrappier of the two, the loss of his front leg kept him from being nearly as offensive as Mrs. Norris was. And when he managed to get a hit in on her, Filch would show up and make a motion as though to kick him away. Clara knew Janet hadn’t figured out yet how to deal with them, but if she knew her at all (and she really didn’t), she guessed that the other girl was scheming something.

“I think, as long as I got you and Hermione, I’m doing okay.” Clara gave Luisa a bright grin, or tried to, hoping that Luisa wouldn’t try to pick holes in her statement. But she should have known better.

“You should make friends with the girls in your house,” Luisa said. “I know you’ve got me and Hermione, but it’s different, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Clara pulled up a clump of grass and began shredding the pieces in her hand, letting them drop onto the blanket when she was done. “Are you saying I’m less of your friend just because I’m in a different house? Just because I’m Slytherin?”

“ _No._ ” Luisa reached over and took one of Clara’s dirty hands in her own, giving it a squeeze. “You’re one of my best friends, Clara. Honest. Being in a different house doesn’t change that.”

“Then why does it matter if I’m not friends with anyone in Slytherin?”

But try as she might, Luisa couldn’t seem to think of a way to explain it to her. Instead, she took her hand back, brushing it nervously through her wavy brown hair. “They’re not teasing you, are they?”

Clara shook her head. “No. I just don’t like them. A lot of them are all in love with Draco or something, and he’s so annoying! He thinks he’s better than everyone, even though I’m tons better at Transfiguration than he is and Janet’s even better at it, too, and he’s actually _really bad_ at it, but he won’t listen.” She frowned. “It’s like he thinks he’s Harry Potter or something.”

“Well, you were just talking about wanting to be him, too—”

“I never said I wanted to _be_ him!” Clara said a little too loudly. A few of the birds that had settled in the tree branches overhead startled at the sound and flew away, cawing at her in annoyance. They landed a few feet away, avoiding the lake entirely. One tried to fly over the lake only to get caught in one of the giant squid’s tentacles. It gave a strangled crying caw and then disappeared as it was dragged beneath the waves. “I just don’t think it’s fair that he gets to do stuff that no one else gets to do. Like he gets rewarded for breaking the rules.”

“I don’t think he gets rewarded.”

“He flew when we weren’t supposed to fly and now he’s got a broom and a spot on that sports team and Hermione and Janet wouldn’t let _me_ fly and maybe if I had then _I_ would be on the sports team, too.”

There it was. All of it. Or maybe not all of it, but enough of it for her to get it out. Clara pounded a little fist on the blanket. It wasn’t _fair_. And it wasn’t her fault! And maybe—

“Draco didn’t get on the Quidditch team, either, so I don’t think you would have.”

“Then it’s because it’s _him_. Because he’s _special_. Because he saved the world or something like that.”

“ _Clara—_ ”

“I know, I know, you don’t want to talk about it.” Clara’s voice faded, and she went back to picking at the fallen leaves. “It’s just not fair, is all.”

“You’ll get your chance eventually,” Luisa said, and she pulled Clara into a side hug. “Might not be today or tomorrow or even next year, but you’ll get it. And I think it’ll be better because you’ll know more and be better at it than you are right now. I think that’s something.”

“I guess.” Clara sighed and looked out over the great lake. “I just wish—”

But she didn’t say it.

And Luisa, maybe knowing what it was to have those secret wishes build up in her own heart without having any way to put them into words, let it linger without asking about it further.

* * *

As Clara’s birthday approached, the castle seemed to get into its first fit of festive flurry. Halloween was a big time of year for the young witches and wizards, and the big burly man who had led the first years to the castle that first day so many months ago, who Clara had eventually learned was named Hagrid, and who was also the groundskeeper, had taken to decorating the castle with pumpkins – some carved into crude designs while others seemed to have been intricately carved by others in the faculty; a few weren’t carved at all but were painted with faces and wore little bits of decorative fabric, and fewer still were completely plain. If Clara didn’t know better, a swarm or two of bats had invaded the castle for the occasion; in truth, the swarm of bats lived there year-round but only came out for the festivities and to surprise the students. She tried to get close enough to pet one of them down in the dank dungeons, but as soon as it acknowledged her presence, it squawked in her face and flew away.

The morning of Halloween – Clara’s birthday – the entire dining hall smelled strongly of pumpkin with strong hints of chocolate. When she sat down at the table, she found pumpkin pancakes, some of which had chocolate chips melting inside of them, and whipped cream and syrup for toppings. Her stomach grumbled, and she greedily took a whole stack and started to dig in. It wasn’t a few minutes later, though, when a great black owl swooped down in front of her, its wings beating a couple of times before landing, and stuck out its leg, where a package had been tied on.

Clara’s eyes widened. “For me?” she asked. The owl chirped a couple of times and pecked at her fingers, so she quickly untied the package. As she opened it, the owl stayed where it was, ruffling its feathers, as though waiting for her to do something, but she didn’t notice.

There, inside, was a little hand-carved figurine of someone who _must_ have been _her_. It had the same frizzy red hair and the same bright blue eyes and even little tiny freckles scattered across its face. In its right hand, there was a tiny little wand that seemed to have confetti and sparks of green and silver at its tip. She ran her fingers along the smooth, brightly-colored wood, and couldn’t help but grin. This _had_ to be from her dad!

There was a letter inside the package, too, and Clara unfolded it to find a little silver chain dangling just inside. She held onto the chain and the figurine as she read the letter:

DEAR CLARA,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!  
YOUR STEPMOTHER SAID I SHOULD TIE YOUR PRESENT TO THIS OWL INSTEAD OF USING THE NORMAL POSTAGE SYSTEM. THE BIRD BETTER GET IT TO YOU IN TIME, OR I’LL KILL THE LITTLE BUGGER.  
YOU BETTER BE LEARNING A LOT OF MAGIC WHILE YOU’RE THERE. I WANT TO SEE SOME OF THE THINGS YOU’VE LEARNED WHEN YOU GET BACK. JUST DON’T SHOW ANYONE ELSE.  
LONG AS YOU’RE HAVING FUN, I THINK YOU’RE DOING ALRIGHT.  
YOU SHOULD SEND US OLD FOLKS LETTERS AND UPDATES MORE OFTEN. WE WANT TO KNOW HOW EVERYTHING IS GOING WITH THAT NEW SCHOOL OF YOURS!

I MISS YOU.

DAD

Her eyes pored over the words again and again, and then she folded the letter back up and tucked it in the back pocket of her jeans. Clara quickly scribbled a letter to her dad on one of the pieces of thicker paper that made up the package’s wrapping – Elena must not have told him that Clara couldn’t send letters without an owl of her own to carry them.

Dad,

Thanks so much for the present! She’s gorgeous!  
Sorry I haven’t written. I wish I had a camera here so I could take pictures for you! I don’t know that they have a developing room here or anything like that, but maybe I’ll find it this year and then next year I can bring a camera with me? It’s _huge_ and _beautiful_ here! My dorm’s in the dungeons, but it’s actually really nice and comfy. I can’t wait for you to see what everything looks like! There’s probably a day you can come visit. You’d love it here!  
I’ll try to send you more letters if I can! I’ve made a couple of friends – Luisa and Hermione – and they’ve been really nice. They know a lot, which is good when I don’t understand something in class. I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been learning!

Love you!

Clara

She quickly folded her response into a small bit, tied it together with some of the string from her package, and then tied it to the owl’s leg. The owl reached forward and bit her ear once, harshly, and then spread its great black wings and flew away.

 _It must belong to Elena_ , Clara thought, and then she winced. If that was Elena’s owl, then that meant Elena would get the letter before her dad did. Well, she hadn’t written anything too incriminating in it. Elena might not be happy that she’d made friends with Luisa, but honestly, she couldn’t stop her, could she? Clara wasn’t going to stop being friends with someone just because her evil stepmother told her she couldn’t, especially not someone who had been as friendly with her as Luisa was.

Clara gripped the figurine a little tighter, her thumb running along the wood again, until she felt a little catch hidden beneath its hair. Her eyes widened, and when she looked, she noticed that there was a little hole there. She took the silver chain from her other hand and unhooked it before threading it carefully through the hole. It wasn’t just a figurine; it was a necklace! Her grin spread. She could wear it whenever and wherever she wanted! How wonderful!

But just as she went to hook it around her neck, someone grabbed it out of her hand.

“What’s that you’ve got, Ruvelle?”

Immediately, Clara stood to her feet, wand out, and glared at Draco Malfoy, who had the figurine dangling from his hand. “That’s _mine_ , Draco. Give it back.”

Draco curled the silver chain through his fingers and held the figurine up to his face. “What is this? Mugglecraft?” He dangled it there, staring at it. “Thought your mum was a witch.”

“What’s it matter to you?” Clara retorted. “You ain’t heard of her. Some people’s good at lots of things.” She didn’t want to tell him that it was from her dad or that her dad was a Muggle. As far as she knew, all of the other Slytherins were pureblood – both of their parents were witches or wizards or had some sort of magical ability – and she didn’t know what would happen if they suddenly found out that she _wasn’t_ one.

“Mugglecraft’s _worthless_.” Draco shook the figurine a couple of times. “I’ll do you a favor and get rid of this, then, won’t I? And you’ll thank me for it later.”

Clara surged forward, her hands clenched into little fists, but someone else moved in front of her first.

Janet gave a great big yawn, stifling it with one hand – they hadn’t gotten to sleep until the early hours of the morning because of their Astronomy class – and sat down straight between Clara and Draco. She didn’t look at either of them. Then she held her hand out towards Draco, still not looking at him.

Clara watched as Draco handed the figurine over to her. She wasn’t sure how that could be. Why was Draco so adamant about getting rid of it when _she_ wanted it back but all Janet had to do was hold out her hand and he gave it to her without any complaint? Why couldn’t he just give it back to her?

Janet held onto the figurine for a little bit, staring at it.

“That’s mine,” Clara said, breaking the silence. “My dad sent it to me. For my birthday. I want it back.”

Janet looked up to where Clara was standing next to her and met her eyes. Her own muddy brown eyes seemed cold. Impassive. She glanced back down at the figurine and then started to hand it back to Clara. “It’s got a latch. You want me to hook it on for you?”

Clara blinked a couple of times. Her brow furrowed. She could do it herself. But still—

“Sure,” Clara said, her voice hesitant. She sat down on the bench next to Janet and was very still as the other girl hooked the necklace on for her. For a moment, she could smell pine, ginger, and some sort of mint instead of the overwhelming scent of pumpkin and chocolate that had been filling the entire room. Then it was gone just as quickly as Janet was. Clara lifted one hand and touched the figurine around her neck, moving it a bit before letting it settle. “Thank you.”

“Course.”

Clara turned back to her platter of half-eaten pancakes, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. She sat at the table a little longer, just staring at everything, and then decided it’d be better to spend her free period doing something else. Hermione would say she should study. She didn’t really _want_ to do that, but maybe she’d run into her friend there. So she headed to the library.

* * *

But it wasn’t Hermione who Clara found in the library. Instead, she found Luisa with what looked to be a really old book open on the table in front of her, brown hair a curtain on the side where her hand rested on the pages, her other hand in the process of pushing the rest of her hair out of her face but instead paused there, one finger stuck in the act of curling one of her loose waves about itself. She jumped not when Clara sat down next to her but when Clara’s stack of books landed on the table next to her with a heavy clunking sound. Her head snapped up, eyes wide until they settled on Clara, at which point she relaxed, smile slowly spreading across her face. “You found me!”

“Wasn’t looking for you,” Clara said, but she was smiling anyway. “Whatcha reading?”

Luisa looked down at her book, and if Clara didn’t know any better, she’d think that Luisa was trying to hide it from her. “Just some light reading. Extra stuff. Had something I wanted to look into.” She covered the page she was on with her arm and then shut the book before Clara could look in on any of it.

“That’s as light as anything Hermione’s been reading.” Clara tried to bend closer, but Luisa moved her arm to cover the front of the book so that she couldn’t even see the title. Well, if she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was, she didn’t have to. Clara wasn’t going to force her or anything. But she couldn’t help asking, “What sort of stuff?”

“Nothing important.” Luisa pushed the book over to one side as she turned to face her friend. “What’re you here for? You got something you’re trying to—” Then she stopped and reached one hand out, hesitating just in front of her. “Can I?”

Clara blinked a couple of times. “Can you what?” She looked down towards what Luisa appeared to be reaching for only to see the figurine dangling about her neck. Even though it had only been a few minutes, she’d already forgotten about it. “Oh! Sure!” She leaned forward so that the carving dangled further away from her neck and closer to Luisa.

“You sure?” But Luisa was already reaching her hand out the rest of the way so that she could grab it. She ran her fingers along its smooth sides and very carefully tapped the end of the wand when she was done, giggling as the green and silver paint sparkled as it turned and caught the light. “Just like real magic!”

“Yeah! Only it’s not. Magic, I mean.” Clara leaned back and fiddled with her necklace. “My dad made it and sent it to me for my birthday. It’s not real magic at all.”

Luisa’s face froze, and Clara was certain she’d said something wrong. She hadn’t thought that Luisa would care about her dad being a Muggle – and, to be fair, she hadn’t really _said_ that, only that what he’d made wasn’t magic, and maybe wizards sometimes played with non-magical things just because they were interested in them, even though Draco’s reaction made her guess maybe that wasn’t the case – but maybe…maybe Luisa was just as offended by all of that as some of the others were.

“Your birthday?” Luisa echoed. “When was it? You didn’t tell me?”

Clara blinked a couple of times, and her head tilted to one side. “It’s…it’s _today_ , but I didn’t think that—”

Luisa frowned, lips pressing together as she bit on her lower lip. “I would have gotten you something, if I knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…. I didn’t think it mattered. It’s just a day. Just like any other day.” Clara turned away from Luisa and leaned forward, folding her arms atop the table. “Mom used to—”

“ _Shhhhhhh._ ”

Clara whirled her head to face someone sitting at one of the other tables – the same yellow-haired girl from before, when she’d been here with Hermione, with her brow furrowed. The girl had one finger across her lips, and her brown eyes glimmered darkly. “The library’s for quiet study, not for talking about birthdays or families or _friends_ or anything like that! If you want to talk about that stuff, go to your commons or outside or—”

“ _Fine._ ” Clara’s words were a quiet hush despite the way she spat them at the other girl. “I _came_ here to study, but _fine_. You can have your stinkin’ library, and Luisa and I will—” But when she turned to Luisa, the other girl hadn’t moved a bit. “You’re coming with me, right, Lu?”

“No,” Luisa whispered, her head facing down, and she shook her head. “I want to keep reading this, and I don’t think I can check it out without a professor’s permission. Probably shouldn’t even be reading it, but the librarian likes me, and—”

“Fine,” Clara repeated, even though it wasn’t really fine. It wasn’t even that she was frustrated with Luisa for being upset about not learning about her birthday. She couldn’t put her finger on what was upsetting her more – whether it was that yellow-haired girl who kept interrupting her conversations and didn’t want her talking with people in the library or whether it was that she’d brought up her mom and now she was thinking about her again, and she wished, she wished, she _wished_ that her mom had stayed around to explain things to her instead of running off without her.

Clara’s hand instinctively went to the figurine around her neck, and she gave it a little squeeze, feeling it warm in her fist, before grabbing her stack of books. “I’ll go. I don’t want to _intrude_ on your _studying_.”

“You weren’t intruding, Clara, you were—”

“ _Shhhhhhh._ ”

“Shut it, I’m going!” Clara turned to the yellow-haired girl with her hands clenched into little fists, her books dropped back to the table with a loud ker-thunk noise. Her wand felt cold in her hand, almost as though it, too, were just as angry about the situation as she was. Only where Clara ran hot, it seemed to be trying to sooth her somehow.

The yellow-haired girl didn’t stand, but she turned to more properly face Clara, her own, lighter wand held so loosely in her own hand that it could have dropped, even though Clara suspected it wouldn’t. Her brown eyes glimmered again, that little flash of darkness crossing through them, and all at once, Clara became aware of just how much older this girl was than her. A few years at the very least, a sixth or seventh year at most, but that didn’t intimidate her at all. Well, it did, because obviously this girl knew more magic than she did, and with all those books spread out in front of her, she had to be studying something really seriously—

But Clara couldn’t back down! She wasn’t _wrong_ for talking to her friend, even if she _was_ in the library. So she stood her ground and locked eyes with the other girl, who examined her once, twice, and then gave her a little smile. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t bitter – it was an expression quite like Elena’s when _she_ smiled – and Clara didn’t know what to make of it.

“What?” Clara said, brows furrowing. “What do you want? Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Because you’re interesting,” the yellow-haired girl said. She gave a little scoffing snort and then turned away before waving one hand at her. “You said you were going, didn’t you? So get going, sport.”

_Sport?_

Clara scowled and picked up her books again, annoyed with how dismissive the other girl was being toward her, and gave Luisa a look. “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

But Luisa wasn’t meeting her eyes, wasn’t saying _anything_ , was instead looking at that book she’d been reading before Clara had shown up. Her fingers tightened on the cover.

Something was _wrong_ , but Clara didn’t know what it was and couldn’t say anything on it until she did. It sat in the pit of her stomach for a while – Luisa being upset with her for not saying anything about her birthday, Luisa’s concern for that book she’d refused to share with her, and above all else, that yellow-haired girl who seemed determined to be a jerk whenever she was talking with her friends in the library.

* * *

Lunch came and went, followed by Charms with the Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick decided it was time for them to start learning how to make objects fly, but by the end of the class period, the only students who had managed to get their feathers to float at all were Susanna and Janet. The Ravenclaws weren’t so much the brainiacs that Clara had expected when she first heard about them with Hermione but were actually much more into experimenting with existing spells to see if there were ways to get them to work better (which often led to abject failures on their parts). It still surprised her that most of them hadn’t managed to get their feathers to float. She wasn’t surprised that Janet had succeeded where no one else in their class other than Susanna had, though. Janet had proven herself to be extremely good at charms – probably because they were the root of many of the hexes and jinxes that seemed to come so naturally to her – and a part of Clara wondered, briefly, if Janet had ever made someone else hover or if she planned to.

But the second indication that something was very wrong was Flying – which had quickly become Clara’s favorite class, followed shortly by Transfiguration (with Professor McGonagall) and Potions (her other class with the Gryffindors). Clara waited on the grounds with her broom by her side – not _her_ broom, but the one that she regularly used during class – but the spot next to her where Hermione usually stood stayed empty, even when Madam Hooch started teaching. Her friend’s absence throughout the class made her antsy, and no matter how much time they spent flying on their brooms, passing a rubber ball back and forth to practice their balance, Clara couldn’t feel anything other than _restless_.

Potter had been freed from future flying classes the moment McGonagall had taken him after the huge upset with Draco weeks earlier. Despite the rumors, it was probably intended to look like a punishment, but with the appearance of the broom shortly afterwards, no one really believed that it was. Not anymore.

So, despite the fact that if she had to talk to one of the other Gryffindors Clara would _prefer_ it to be the Potter kid, who seemed like he might be nice enough, Clara stalked over to the gangly redheaded boy, her hands shoved into her jeans pockets. The boy’s red hair was cut into an almost bowl-like shape, and his ears stuck out too big through his hair. He was also taller than she was, taller than most of their year, which made him easy to spot.

“Hey!” Clara said, pushing through the gaggle of other students to get to him. “Hey! _Weasel boy!_ ”

 _That_ hadn’t been what she meant to say.

The redheaded boy turned to face her, his cheeks a bright red, his blue eyes flashing. “Oi! I’m not a _weasel_ , I’m a Weasl—”

“Where’s Hermione?” Clara interrupted, not particularly caring what he was going to say. She _knew_ his last name was Weasley, after all, and she hadn’t _meant_ to call him a weasel. She didn’t know why she did that. Probably something to do with the unsettling feeling he still gave her. “Why wasn’t she in class? Is she sick or something?”

“How should _I_ know?” the boy said, his face contorting into a scowl. “She stormed off crying earlier, and I haven’t seen her since—”

“She was _crying_?” Clara stormed forward and grabbed the scruff of the boy’s robes. It didn’t have quite the effect she wanted, since she was shorter than he was and she couldn’t lift him like a proper upset, but she _hoped_ it conveyed her anger well enough that he knew how annoyed she was with him. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Then who did?” Clara snapped. “Tell me, or I’ll…I’ll….” She suddenly caught sight of Janet passing them by, her face still a shade lighter from their previous class as she’d still never gotten quite accustomed to flying at all. “Or I’ll have Janet hex you!”

Janet froze at the sound of her name.

“No, you won’t!” the redheaded boy exclaimed, squirming against Clara’s grip. “You’re not allowed to hex people between classes! You’ll lose house points!” But despite everything he was saying, Weasley’s voice was thin, and his blue eyes kept trying to turn behind him to look at Janet.

Clara didn’t think the other girl would back her up at all, but she continued nevertheless, leaning forward and hissing, “Only if we get caught.”

Weasley continued to squirm against her grip, and try as she might, Clara couldn’t keep him held tight any longer. But as soon as he slipped from her grasp, Janet was there, holding him by the same scruff of his robes. She gave Clara a look that she didn’t quite understand, and then she turned back to the boy. “Tell her where Hermione went.”

That…hadn’t been what Clara asked for, but it was more important anyway. She didn’t correct her. Confronted with Janet, the other boys who had been standing around them ran away. It seemed like _everyone_ was scared of her, not just the other Slytherins. Well. _Good_ , then. Maybe that would mean this boy was terrified of her, too.

“I…I don’t know!” Weasley said, struggling, but as Janet prepared her wand to do _something_ , he yelped. “Stop, stop! One of the girls said she was crying in the girls’ bathroom earlier!”

“Which one?” Janet asked, her voice a cold steel, and Clara was just glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of her menace this time.

“Second floor? First floor? I don’t know! I didn’t ask!”

Clara scowled. “You’re _useless_.” She turned to Janet, still unsure why the other girl had decided to help her at all. If she thought about it, she’d probably guess that Janet just enjoyed being mean to other people, kind of like how Draco liked bragging about how good he was at everything. Given the opportunity, of _course_ she would terrorize someone. She really was the worst of the Slytherins. “You can let him go. I’m gonna go see if I can find Hermione.” She tightened her hand on her wand. “Thanks for backing me up.”

“Always.” Janet dropped the redheaded boy and brushed her hands together as the boy ran away. “Want help finding her?”

Clara blinked a couple of times. “No,” she said, confused. Why would Janet want to help Hermione? They weren’t friends or anything. She probably just wanted to hear her crying or make her cry more. Yeah. That made sense. So _definitely_ no. Hermione deserved better than to be bothered by Janet when she was already in a horrible mood. “I don’t think she’ll want to see you.”

“Alright.” Janet nodded once. “Tell her I hope she feels better, then,” she said as she started to walk off towards the Slytherin commons area.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do that.” Clara wasn’t sure if Janet heard her or not, though. She watched the other girl walk away, shook her head in an attempt to get a grip on herself, and then scampered off to check the bathrooms and try to find her friend.

* * *

It didn’t take long to find the right bathroom. A gaggle of girls stood outside, whispering and talking, and when Clara pushed through them, she could hear the loud crying coming from inside. She stopped in front of the stall where the sounds seemed to be loudest, and then she knocked on the door a couple of times. “Hermione?”

There was sniffling on the other side of the stall. “What do you want?”

Clara didn’t know what to say to that. “I wanted to know why you were crying,” she said, because that seemed the best way to explain herself. She hadn’t really been around anyone crying before – other than herself, and the ways you take care of yourself when you’re crying aren’t the same as the ways you take care of someone else. “Are you okay?”

“I’m _crying_ , Clara. Of course, I’m not okay.”

Well. That made sense.

Clara shuffled her feet in her little red sneakers and brushed her frizzy red hair back behind one ear. “Is there anything I can do to help?” It never crossed her mind that Hermione hadn’t said why she was crying, and it was easy to believe that the reason had everything to do with that Weasley kid. He didn’t seem as threatening as Janet was, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a bully just as much as Draco was or like some of the kids in her old school had been – or she had been to them.

“Just leave me alone.”

Clara didn’t know what to say to that either. There were definitely sad moments where it was better to be alone, but she didn’t think this was one of those. If it was, she didn’t think Hermione would be hiding in a public bathroom. But, then, maybe no one in her house cared enough to come help her. Maybe that was why _Clara_ was here but no one else was.

She hesitated. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I can sit out here, if you want. I’m not hungry.” She paused and then asked, “Are you hungry? It’s dinner. Do you want anything? I can go get you something and come back—”

“ _No_ , Clara. Just _go away_.”

“…okay.” Clara stood in front of the bathroom stall and didn’t move for a few minutes, trying to think of something else to say or something to do. Her brow furrowed. “You know they’re all stupid idiots, right? And whatever they said, it’s not true.”

“You don’t even know what they said.”

“No,” Clara continued, her hands clenching into little fists, “but I know _you_ , and you might be an insufferable know-it-all sometimes, but you’re my friend, and it’s okay to be proud about knowing stuff and being good at stuff when other people are having trouble with it because that means you know something people don’t which means you get something they don’t _and they’re just all jealous_.” She gritted her teeth together. “They’re just jealous because you’re amazing and they’re not and houses don’t mean nothing.”

“—don’t mean _anything_ ,” Hermione said after a little pause, her voice very soft. For a moment, it seemed like maybe Hermione might come out, but then she said, just as quietly, “Can you please go away now?”

Clara nodded, even though she knew Hermione couldn’t see her. “Yeah. I’ll go.” She knew she sounded defeated, but that wasn’t the case. She scuffed her toe against the stones as she left the bathroom, and then she glared at the girls standing around outside. “What, you haven’t heard a girl crying in the bathroom before? _Get lost_ , or I’ll have Janet hex you!”

That got the other girls to leave easily enough. Clara didn’t think she really _could_ get Janet to hex anyone, but saying that she could felt nice, especially when there wasn’t anything else she could actually do. Whatever it was Hermione needed, she wasn’t good at it.

But _Luisa_ might be!

Luisa had a little brother. She’d probably had to calm him down loads of times! And she’d always been nice whenever Clara was upset. She knew when to be quiet and when to say something, and whatever she did always seemed to help, even if it was just someone listening and understanding. Maybe it was a Hufflepuff thing.

As soon as Clara made it to the dining hall, she looked around, trying to find Luisa. She didn’t notice that the entire hall seemed to be even more vastly decorated than it was before, that the ghosts – both those from the houses and a bunch of others she hadn’t noticed before – were all sitting at the different tables or trying to slowly appear next to some hapless student in an attempt to scare them, that the flocks of bats that normally hung out in the dungeons were now flocking in the hall and flying around through the air. She didn’t even notice the grumbling of her stomach as she caught sight of Luisa sitting down next to a ghost with frizzy hair with a slight reddish tint somewhat like her own.

On finding her friend, Clara scurried over to the Hufflepuff table and sat down on her other side. “Luisa. I need your help with something.”

“What’s wrong?” Luisa asked, her eyes wide with concern.

“ _Hey_ , you can’t sit here!” the ghost girl on her other side said, peering around Luisa with a scowl. “You’re not a Hufflepuff! Go to your own table!”

“This is _kind of important_ – and you’re a _ghost_! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I’m you _elder_! I can tell you to do whatever I—”

“Carla, _hush_.” Luisa waved a hand in front of the ghost. “She obviously _needs_ something, and Hufflepuff’s the best house to go to when you need something, you know that.” She turned to face Clara as she asked again, “What’s wrong?”

“Hermione’s crying in the girls’ bathroom and I don’t know how to make her feel better and she’s still in there right now and _you’ll_ know how to make her feel better because you’re better at making people feel better and—”

“Stop, stop!” Luisa held up her hand. “Haven’t any of the teachers tried to help her at all? Or her head of house?”

Clara thought about that for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. She wouldn’t still be in there if one of the professors had gone to help. I wouldn’t, anyway.” Although now that she was thinking about it, Clara couldn’t think of any of the professors who would help her feel better. Maybe the professors _did_ know, and they just thought it was better to let Hermione sort it out herself. “I think, if it were me, I’d like you better than a professor. Since you’re my friend and all.”

Luisa stared at Clara for a couple of seconds, not saying anything, and then she smiled and nodded. “Okay.” She turned to Carla. “Sorry. I’ll have to talk to you later. My friend needs my help.”

“I’m your friend, too, you know, and I was here first,” Carla said, crossing her ghost arms and frowning. But it didn’t seem like she was quite as disappointed as she was pretending to be. “But go ahead. _Leave me._ Just like everyone else—”

“Thank you.” Luisa patted Carla’s ghost hand a couple of times before turning back to Clara. Her eyes shifted to the food all over the table, and then she nodded again. “Alright. We’ve gotta take some food with us—”

“She said she wasn’t hungry—”

“ _Comfort food is essential to helping a friend out._ ”

It was maybe the most firm thing Clara had ever heard Luisa say, and she immediately began to take sandwiches and pot pies and normal pies and cookies and whatever she could get her hands on to shove into the little bag Luisa had with her, which, much to her surprise, already had a lot of food crammed inside. “What else?”

Luisa watched as Clara shoved food into her bag and couldn’t help but giggle. “You don’t have your own bag?”

Clara looked up. “No. Had Flying as my last class. Don’t need bags or books or anything for that.” She shoved more food in – this time for _her_ instead of Hermione, because she didn’t want to skip dinner entirely. Once the bag was full, she looked back up and met Luisa’s eyes. “I think that’s enough.”

“I think that’s _more_ than enough,” Luisa said. She turned and patted the ghost’s hand again. “I’ll talk to you later, Carla.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course—”

All of a sudden, there was a loud _slamming_ noise at the entrance to the hall. Clara _jumped_ and wasn’t surprised to see that Luisa had, too, startling the bag full of food sitting on the bench between them. Her head whirled toward the back of the hall, where a weary, exhausted, _frightened_ Professor Quirrell was stumbling over his own two feet, or over the edge of the fabric for his turban, which had unwound a bit and was dragging along the floor behind him. As soon as everyone was looking at him, he yelled, “ _Troll in the dungeon!_ ” His eyes met Dumbledore’s briefly, and then he fell to the ground with a resounding slam.

For one untimed moment, the only sound in the hall was the echo of Quirrell’s words as they reverberated against the stone walls, but as they quieted and faded away into nothing, panic began to set in. Before the students could begin to scream or get too out of hand, Dumbledore said, voice still that same quiet it held at the beginning of the school year and still held with that same authority that made everyone listen in spite of their fear (or, perhaps, because of it), “Prefects,” and that first word caused them all to still because no matter how gentle it was, the firmness of it echoed through the hall just as loudly as Quirrell’s yell had, “lead your Houses back to their dormitories. _Immediately._ ”

Clara gave Luisa a wide-eyed look. “But my dormitory’s _in_ the dungeon! How does that keep us safe?” and then, a moment later, “Hermione won’t know!” She looked at the bag of food between them. “We’ve got to tell her!”

“ _No_ ,” Luisa replied, her voice just as quiet and firm as Dumbledore’s had been. “We can’t just go save her. We don’t know how to take down a troll. _This_ is when we tell the professors. They’ll make sure she’s safe and taken care of.” She also looked down at the bag of food between them. “And they can take the food to her. Or use it to distract the troll.” Then she turned back to Carla. “You can tell the head of Gryffindor, can’t you? And Clara, you can tell yours, and I can tell mine.” She took the bag and stumbled a bit as she stood under the weight of the whole thing. “Let’s go. _Now!_ ”

Despite the fact that Clara really wanted to find the troll and beat its brains out, she obeyed. It didn’t surprise her much that she obeyed Luisa – the other girl was a year ahead in school, after all. With everything that had happened so far, Clara couldn’t help but wonder if _every_ year at Hogwarts was like this (and then wondered if that was the real reason Elena had wanted her here instead of the fancy beautiful wands school – maybe she wanted her to die during one of these events or something). Not that she thought about it then, but she certainly thought about it later.

Clara thought it would be hard to find Snape in the midst of everything, but it wasn’t hard at all. He was meeting with his prefects at one end of the Slytherin table, giving them instructions that probably had something to do with how to get to their dormitory safely without having to worry about the troll that was also in the dungeons. She pushed through them and stood in front of him, and where normally she might have felt a little bashful, she couldn’t feel any of that right now. “Professor!”

Snape looked up from his prefects, dark eyes even darker. “Yes, Ms. Ruvelle?”

“One of the students – one of the girls – she’s crying in the girls’ bathroom on the third floor right next to that place we’re not supposed to go – I think she wanted to get as far out of the way as possible – and she won’t know that there’s a troll – and someone needs to go find her and I don’t think you’d want one of us to do it and—”

Snape didn’t blink, his face didn’t get white, the only thing that made it apparent that he understood what she’d said at all was the steady darkening of his already dark eyes. “I will take care of it, Ms. Ruvelle.” He turned to one of his prefects – the dark-haired Alana, who had shown the first years how to get to the dormitories on that very first evening at Hogwarts. “Ms. Bloom here will take you somewhere where you will be safe.” Then he turned away, his black robes sweeping about him like the wings of a great black bat.

Clara turned to Alana, her hands still clenched into fists, and, swallowing once, asked as she forced herself to relax, “Is there going to be food there, or should I take some with me?”

* * *

The rest of the evening passed without much event. There were sandwiches and pumpkin juice and quite a few pies in the common area. Clara kept mostly to herself in one corner of the room, munching away on as much food as she could get her hands on and drinking so much pumpkin juice she thought she was going to make herself sick. But it was her birthday and it was Halloween and if she gorged herself it at least helped keep her mind off of Hermione and the troll.

Most of the students left the common area for their shared bedrooms as time wore on, but Clara stayed in the main area, hoping for some indication of what might have happened to her friend. It wasn’t until much later that Alana, the black-haired prefect, made her way to the front of the dormitory and met with Professor Snape. Clara got as close as she dared only to overhear him say that everything was safe now, but that it was best if they stayed in the dormitory. His eyes lifted just enough to see where Clara sat cooped up in one of the overlarge black leather arm chairs, her freckle-covered legs pulled up beneath her. Then he whispered something a little quieter to Alana and disappeared.

After he left, Alana came over to Clara, her wand snapping back and forth like a wagging finger. “Snape wanted me to tell you that they found the girl. Looks like her story was different than yours was. Couple of friends from her house saved her.”

“Friends from her house?” Clara echoed. She’d never heard Hermione say anything about anyone like that.

“Potter and Weasley, I think.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “They aren’t her friends! That Weasley kid teases her! They probably locked her in there!”

“Nevertheless,” Alana continued, “she seems to be doing okay. It was good of you to say something, or things could have been much, much worse.” She reached over and ruffled Clara’s curly red hair.

Clara _hated_ that. “I’m not a kid, you know.” She moved away from Alana’s touch. “You wouldn’t do that to your friends or nothing, so don’t do it to me.” She stood up on the chair cushion, which made her taller than Alana was, and reached over to ruffle her prefect’s hair.

Alana moved away just in time, and when Clara leaned forward to try and get her anyway, she stumbled and fell off of the chair. Unlike some people, though, Alana didn’t ask if Clara was okay, and she didn’t patronize her. “You’re right,” she said instead. “I _wouldn’t_ like someone to do that to me. So I _guess_ I won’t do it to you.”

“ _Good_ ,” Clara said, dusting herself off as she stood up again. She glanced over Alana’s shoulder to look at the entrance to the dormitory again but didn’t say anything. All at once, she felt _exhausted_ , and her eyes began to droop. Rather than look tired in front of Alana, she used the last little bit of her energy to scamper up to the room she shared with the other girls from her year.

The rest of the girls were all piled in their beds, fast asleep, except for possibly Janet, who had the curtains pulled around her bed so that she couldn’t be seen or heard. Clara dragged herself past her and onto her own bed. She pulled her curtains closed and stared out the window at the lake and the creatures within it before curling up beneath the covers.

A few moments later, _something_ jumped onto her bed. Clara sat up, suddenly wide awake despite how tired she had felt before, and she squinted into the darkness until a small shape was just barely visible. It crept towards her, and as it grew closer, she realized it was none other than Cat, Janet’s pet cat. She knew better than to try and shoo him away. Instead, she reached one hand out to him.

Cat sniffed her hand, his tail slowly moving back and forth, and after a short consideration, he butted his head against her palm. He rubbed his torn ear against her fingertips. When she didn’t do anything, he gave her a short _mow_ of unhappiness.

“I’m not supposed to pet you,” Clara whispered to him, but when Cat crept closer, she began to scratch behind his ears and along his long, scrawny back. She curled up on her side again, and Cat curled up on the pillow next to her. He gave a great big sigh and then gave her a big look before beginning to purr. Clara reached over and began to pet his head again, trying to make sure she was very gentle. “If Janet’s mad at me tomorrow, I’m telling her it was _your_ fault and _you_ came to see _me_.”

Cat didn’t seem to care.

Well, if _he_ didn’t care, Clara guessed that maybe _she_ shouldn’t care either.

_Happy Birthday to me._

* * *

The next morning, Clara’s first class was double Potions with Gryffindor, and she ate and got there as quickly as she possibly could. She wanted to talk with Hermione and find out the truth about what had happened with Potter and Weasley. But when she got to the corridor, Hermione wasn’t there ahead of time like she always was, and Clara found herself completely alone. She shivered once and then sat down on the stone floor. Maybe Hermione was just running later than normal after everything that had happened. She would be like that, too.

But then, as time grew closer to when class should start and the corridor began to fill with other students, Clara caught sight of Hermione with Potter and Weasley, her books clasped against her chest, listening to them with her head tilted to one side and talking with them. Clara tried to wave at her as she passed, but either Hermione didn’t notice her or she was ignoring her completely.

When the classroom was finally open, Hermione grouped together with the boys in a way she hadn’t before, leaving Clara completely alone. She looked around, trying to figure out where to sit, and Janet unexpectedly grabbed her elbow and pulled her over to her table. There weren’t enough people for everyone to group into threes, so Janet and Clara were a group of their own and had to work harder to make sure that they could finish their potion by the end of the class. It was different than working with Hermione had been – Clara had been able to talk with Hermione and discuss what they were doing, and in the end, she’d often understood the little bits and pieces that she hadn’t gotten on her own; with Janet, though, there wasn’t much talking at all, only the occasional correction and the passing of ingredients from one to the other, almost like a machine, albeit a faulty one that hadn’t been used or cleaned very often.

At the end of class, Clara gathered her things and left Janet behind, making sure to catch up with Hermione. “Hey!”

Hermione froze, and the boys she was with continued on ahead a few paces before realizing she wasn’t with them. She turned to face Clara, shifting her stuff in her hands. “Hey.”

“Did I do something wrong or something?” Clara asked, stepping closer, head tilted to one side. “Why’re you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you,” Hermione said, and her eyes shifted to where the boys were waiting behind her before returning to Clara. “I’m just getting to know my new friends.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “They aren’t your friends. I don’t know about that Potter kid, but I _know_ that Weasel boy made you cry. Friends don’t make each other cry.”

“They’re my friends now.” Hermione sighed and shrugged. “Besides, it’s better to be friends with people in my house. I spend more time with them, and—”

“That didn’t seem to be a big deal to you before. And I don’t know why that means you shouldn’t be friends with me anymore.”

“We _are_ still friends, Clara, but—”

“Friends don’t just start avoiding and ignoring each other without explaining anything,” Clara said, her voice growing louder. “Friends are—”

“You don’t _need_ friends,” Janet interrupted as she left the classroom. She stopped next to Clara, her eyes resting on the gangly Weasley boy where he stood behind Hermione. “You’ve got me.” Her voice was soft enough that it felt like Clara was the only one who heard the last sentence, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she’d heard. “Are they bothering you?”

“No,” Clara said. She was angry all at once – angry with Janet for interrupting, angry with these kids who were stealing her friend, and angry with Hermione for letting herself be stolen and caring more about these boys who hadn’t cared about her at all. As if they were better and more important than she was. Her lips pressed together, and she shook her head once. Then she pushed through them, knocking into Hermione as she rushed down the hall and away from all of them.

“They aren’t bothering me at all.”


	10. Quidditch

Over the following days, Clara found that separating herself from Hermione – or, in her opinion, having Hermione avoid her entirely – didn’t change her experiences much at all. The only time she’d seen the other girl regularly was in Flying and Potions. Sometimes they had met over the weekends or in the evenings to go over their Potions homework, but it hadn’t been a regular thing, only when they’d run into each other in the library or specifically sought each other out for help (mostly Clara looking for Hermione rather than the other way around; Hermione didn’t really need help).

But now, since Clara had stopped asking for help and Hermione hadn’t bothered to take time to look for her, Clara found herself slipping. Not in her other classes, and certainly not in Flying, but in Potions. She no longer had a friend to go to when she had trouble understanding something, she no longer had a partner willing to work with her – she had Janet, but it wasn’t the same as partnering with Hermione and she didn’t learn nearly as much – and it seemed like no matter how hard she tried to understand things, it slipped beyond her grasp. Given that Snape had mentioned her mother was a potions master, this was infuriating. Why hadn’t any of that mastery passed down to her? If her mother was good, then she should be, too!

And yet, she wasn’t.

But as time passed and the seasons changed from the slow chill of fall to the bitter cold of winter, the other students began to talk excitedly about something Clara had only heard mentioned – Quidditch. She still didn’t know what it was, other than understanding that it was the flying wizard sport, but she looked forward to the first game all the same. Mostly she wanted to see what it was that everyone was so excited about. And maybe, just maybe, she would like it, too.

The morning of the first Quidditch match – the day after yet another disastrous Potions class where she could almost feel the weight of her departed mother’s disappointed stare hidden somewhere deep in Snape’s withering one – Clara felt a tap on her shoulder within a few minutes of sitting down in the dining hall. She turned to face Luisa and felt herself relax. A part of her was disappointed that it wasn’t Hermione, coming to apologize to her, but then the bushy-haired girl hadn’t ever come over to greet her at the Slytherin table for anything, not even before their rift.

Before Clara could think to say anything, Luisa asked, “Do you want to sit with me during the Quidditch match today?” Her hazel eyes were bright, and there was a huge smile on her face. “I’m going to be sitting with Bedelia and Cedric, and I thought if you didn’t have anyone else you wanted to sit with—”

“Sure!” Clara said as soon as she could get a word in edgewise. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to sit with!” Which wasn’t exactly an exaggeration. Having lost her friendship with Hermione, there _wasn’t_ anyone else she wanted to sit with – the only other people she could think of were Janet and Draco and maybe Susanna, but Susanna would likely want to sit with friends from her house and Clara didn’t think it would be any fun at all to sit with Janet, who would likely spend the entire time not saying anything, or Draco, who was such a braggart about his flying skill that he would likely spend the entire time talking about how much better _he_ would be if _he_ were the one playing…whatever spot on the Quidditch team he thought he would be best at.

Luisa’s grin just spread. “Good! You should bundle up before we go out – it’s _really cold_ , and it’ll be even colder in the stands.” For her part, Luisa had been bundling up more and more even inside the castle, which Clara had found to be quite toasty warm. Even now, Luisa had a yellow and black scarf wrapped around her neck and a pair of worn out fingerless leather gloves on her hands, and her cheeks had a rosy shine to them. “I can walk with you, if you want!”

“Sure!”

As soon as Clara finished eating, the two of them walked down into the dungeons, Luisa shivering the entire way. “Hey,” Clara said, “you don’t have to come with me if it’s that cold. I can get my stuff alright.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Luisa waved a hand in the air. “I have to come down here for Potions anyway, so this is….” She shivered again. “It’s okay!”

Clara stopped in front of the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory and then turned to face Luisa. “You want to come in with me?”

“She _can’t_ come in with you,” Janet said, coming down the corridor behind them. There was no hesitation in her words, no questioning, no shuffling of feet or downward glancing, only the steel in her dark eyes and her certain stance. “You’ll get in trouble for letting someone in from a different house.”

“Really?” Luisa asked, head tilting. “We let people into our common area all the time. No one seems to mind.”

Janet rolled her eyes. “You’re a Hufflepuff. It’s different. Slytherins don’t like letting outsiders into our house.” She gave Clara a look. “You’ll get into trouble.”

But Clara could hear the threat beneath her voice – she wouldn’t _get in trouble_ , she would get hexed. By Janet. Probably because she didn’t want Luisa to play with Cat, who, other than with Clara on her birthday, didn’t want anything to do with anyone other than Janet and had recently taken to hiding in their room to get away from Mrs. Norris and Filch. She took a deep breath and sighed. “Fine. I’ll go get my stuff and come right back out, yeah?”

It didn’t take that long to get warmer clothes and head back out, but when she did, she found Luisa talking with Janet! Clara couldn’t imagine how that—

Actually, she could. Luisa was just that friendly. She’d probably said something about how much they looked alike, and Janet had probably glared at her and gritted her teeth together. At some point, Janet had probably threatened to hex her, and Luisa probably thought she was joking and laughed because it was funny before realizing with wide eyes that Janet was actually telling the truth. As she got closer, though, Clara could hear Luisa asking, “Do you want to sit with us during the match today?”

_Luisa was a little too friendly for her own good._

But before Clara could interrupt with a very clear, _“No, Luisa, she does NOT want to sit with us,”_ Janet looked up, met Clara’s eyes, and then shook her head once. “I’d better not,” she said, and in the moment she turned back to Luisa, Clara thought she saw Janet almost – _almost_ – smile. Or something like it. Maybe it was a trick of the light. In fact, she was _sure_ it was a trick of the light. Janet didn’t smile.

 _Whatever_ the expression was, it was gone in a flash. Janet nodded to Luisa. “I’d better go.” And before Clara could make it over to them, Janet had already turned and gone halfway back down the corridor.

Clara turned to Luisa. “What’d she say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“She didn’t threaten to hex you, did she?”

Luisa’s brow furrowed. “ _No._ Why would she do that?” She watched as Janet walked off. “She seemed nice.”

“She’s _not_ nice. At all. She’s really mean.” Clara rearranged her winter robes and her scarf before pulling her own leather gloves on. “She threatened to kill me on our first day here if I messed with her cat wrong.”

Luisa shrugged. “So she’s a cat person. That doesn’t make her evil.”

Clara paused as she finished with her gloves. “I don’t think all cat people are like that.”

“Then you’ve never met a cat person,” Luisa said, tilting her head to the other side. She shrugged again. “She doesn’t seem as mean as you’ve said, but I’m sure you’ve seen her more than I have. She just seemed kind of lonely, is all.”

Clara scowled. “That’s what she gets for threatening to hex people. If she wanted to make friends, she should’ve made friends. She’s _scary_. No one wants to be friends with someone who’s that scary.”

“I do.”

Clara shoved a hand against Luisa’s shoulder. “That’s because you’re a Hufflepuff.” She grinned. “Now c’mon. We’re going to find good seats, right?”

Luisa grinned again, relaxing at the change of topic. “Yeah! Let’s go! Bedelia and Cedric are probably already up there. We just have to find them.” She took Clara’s hand as she led her out of the castle and gave it a slight squeeze. Then they moved towards an area of the grounds that Clara hadn’t even realized existed.

It looked just like a giant soccer stadium only with three large hoops on either end of the field. Each hoop was held high in the air – from where Clara stood, the hoops seemed small, but she knew that just meant that up high they were _huge_. She guessed that those must be the goals, but she wasn’t sure if it was about just throwing something in one of them or in all three at once or _what_. Madam Hooch had actually encouraged them to go to the match so they could see what flying could entail, and Clara could see the little grey-haired witch with the golden eyes standing on one edge of the field, spinning her whistle around one finger, her wand in her other hand, wearing black and white robes.

_She must be the referee._

“Hey, there they are!” Luisa waved up at two small figures in one of the stands – high wooden structures surrounding the field, three on each side, each with a banner of one of the competing Quidditch teams in an alternating pattern such that there were two Gryffindor banners and one Slytherin banner on one side and two Slytherin banners and one Gryffindor on the other – and then led Clara up behind one of the stands with a huge Slytherin banner in the front. On the back of the wooden structure was a door, and through that was a staircase that seemed to be quite stable and unchanging, as opposed to the magical stairwells inside the castle itself. They made their way up what was, in Clara’s opinion, far too many stairs when they had magic and should have been able to find a way to just magic themselves up into the stands.

Once at the top, Luisa led her through the bleachers to the pretty blonde girl Clara had met so many months before and a boy with tousled golden brown hair, ruddy skin, and cheeks that had gone a bright rosy color from the nippy November air. “This,” Luisa said, gesturing to the blonde girl, “is Bedelia, who you’ve already met, and _this_ ,” she gestured to the boy, “is Cedric.” She turned back to Clara and relaxed again. “And this is Clara.”

“Nice to meet you, Clara,” Cedric said, holding out one hand across Bedelia. “Luisa’s told us a lot about you. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Clara shook his hand. It felt warm against hers. “She’s told you about me?” She turned to Bedelia, who didn’t offer her hand this time but who gave her an answering nod. “What’d she say?”

“ _Nothing important._ ” Luisa sat down on the bench next to Bedelia and gestured for Clara to sit next to her. “And definitely nothing bad.”

“Nothing bad at all,” Cedric echoed with a not so comforting nod. “She said you’re adjusting better than she did. Luisa was really homesick last year, and—”

“ _Different subject how’s the Quidditch field looking?_ ” Luisa said all at once with a slasher bright grin in Cedric’s direction. “Excited to see how Gryffindor’s new seeker flies?”

Clara tried to listen to what Cedric was saying as he started to answer Luisa, but all of his words flew over her head. She had no clue what they were talking about. He kept talking technical terms and waving his hand and, eventually, she asked, blinking a couple of times, “What’s a seeker?”

That only caused Cedric to stop full out and give Clara a blank stare before turning to Luisa. “You didn’t tell me she didn’t know anything about Quidditch.”

“Of course not,” Luisa said, crossing her arms. “I only told you _good things_ , remember?”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Only good things.” Cedric tapped the tip of his nose a couple of times with one finger. He gave Bedelia a look of chagrin and a bashful little shrug. “Sorry to leave you, but I’m not going to explain over you.”

“Thank you.” Bedelia’s voice was even quieter than Professor Snape’s, but it held that same sort of weight and authority. Maybe a little less so, given that she was only a sixth year and not a professor, but maybe it was in the exact enunciation she gave each word, giving it a very exact weight and specificity that Snape, with his much more sarcastic tone, didn’t maintain. The closest it could come in comparison was to Dumbledore, because perhaps it was him that she was trying to emulate.

At her words, Cedric patted her knee once – and it seemed weird that a student only two years ahead of Clara and only one year ahead of Luisa should treat a student three years ahead of him in such a way – and stood up, moving along the bench towards Clara. Bedelia moved over to the end of the bench, Luisa scooted over towards her and then gestured for Clara to do the same, giving Cedric room to sit on the other end of their bench.

As he sat, Cedric turned to more fully face Clara. “So what do you know about Quidditch?” he asked. “I need to know what you know so I can tell you what you _don’t_ know.”

Clara nodded once. “I know that it’s a wizarding sport and that it involves flying on broomsticks and that Harry Potter got added to Gryffindor’s team even though he’s way too young and I think Madam Hooch is a referee and I think those big hoops are goals.” She took a little breath and then nodded again. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“Well,” Cedric said, “none of that is _wrong_ , so you’ve got a good start.” He turned to look over at Luisa, who was half-listening to them and half-trying to carry on a conversation with Bedelia. “You really didn’t tell her _any_ of this?”

Luisa shrugged as Bedelia handed her what looked to be a sugar cookie. “I didn’t know she didn’t know!” She looked over to Clara. “You want a cookie or a drink or something?”

“Maybe in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ve got hot chocolate!”

Clara blinked at Luisa, who grinned and nudged Bedelia with one elbow. The pretty blonde girl sighed, her eyes lifting upwards, and then pulled a thermos from beneath her bench. She took one of the pebbles from the wooden floor beneath their feet and transfigured it into a glass goblet before pouring hot chocolate from the thermos into it until it was almost full. Then she looked up, her big blue eyes suddenly warmer than Clara thought they could be. “Marshmallows? Whipped cream?”

“Uh. Both?”

Bedelia nodded and covered the drink with a handful of marshmallows and a spoonful of whipped cream. “Sprinkles?”

“No.”

“Fudge?”

“No. I think that’s good as it is.”

Bedelia handed the great glass goblet over to Clara, who took it if only to keep her hands warm in the chilly air. Then she turned to Cedric. “Would you like any?”

“No, I’m good.” Cedric held up a flask and flashed her a grin that seemed a little more charming than what someone of his age should have. Bedelia just shook her head, glancing upward again, and then returned to her conversation with Luisa. Cedric took that as permission to continue explaining Quidditch to Clara. “So – and this will make more sense when you actually have all the players and all the balls on the field, but _basically_ what you said before was right.” His grin faded. “It’s just a little bit more complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“In theory, the point is to take a red soccer ball – you know soccer, right?”

“Of _course_ , I know soccer,” Clara said, glaring at him. “I’m not stupid.”

Cedric grinned. “Course you’re not. You’re one of Luisa’s friends. How could I forget?” He patted her back, but before Clara could splutter anything out, he continued, “You take a red soccer ball and throw it into one of the opposing team’s goals for ten points. There are three players on each side for that and one player who protects the goals to keep the other team from scoring.”

“Like a goalie.” Clara nodded. “So…normal sport on broomsticks. You don’t really need magic for that, other than the flying.”

“And that’s where it gets complicated.” Cedric leaned forward, his eyes moving from Clara to the field. “There are two black balls that fly through the air and attack the players and two players per team with bats to try and direct those balls away from their teams and at the other team—”

“So like dodgeball, but with magic and bats like baseball.”

“— _right_ , and then one small, flying, golden ball that one player on each team tries to catch for a hundred and fifty points.” And there it was again, that attempt at a smooth, charming grin. “On Hufflepuff’s team, that player is _me_.”

Clara squinted at him. “Doesn’t sound too hard, trying to find a flying golden golf ball. I could do that easy.”

Cedric’s eyes lit up, and his grin seemed to ease. To his point, he did not laugh at Clara at all. “Alright, if you think you can, see if you can follow it during the game. That’s what my dad used to have me do, and if you can keep up, it might be good to start training. You’d make a good seeker.”

“ _Seeker_ ,” Clara echoed. “That’s what Potter’s supposed to be, right? The new seeker? That’s who Luisa was asking about, right?”

Cedric nodded. “That’s right.”

Luisa leaned over, grinning. “And _that_ makes him Cedric’s new rival!”

“Don’t call him that!” Cedric’s face contorted into a weird, unhappy expression, but Luisa just stuck her tongue out at him. “I just need to see how Wood has trained him. He’s new, so I don’t think he’ll be a real threat yet. But if they’re letting a first year onto their team, either Gryffindor is really desperate or he’s just that good.”

“ _I_ think they’re _desperate_ ,” Luisa said around her own goblet of hot chocolate. “You know what the matches were like last year. They were _creamed_.”

Cedric shrugged. “The Weasley twins are great beaters, but they can’t save an entire team, and if you’ve got a worthless seeker, then nothing else matters.”

Clara’s brow furrowed, and she lowered her hot chocolate. “What do you mean _nothing matters_?”

“Well,” Cedric started again, before pausing to drink from his flask, “like I said, each time the team scores a goal, that’s ten points, but the game goes until the Snitch – that’s the flying golden golf ball – gets caught, and whichever team’s seeker catches the Snitch, they get an additional one hundred and fifty points. So if the Snitch is caught fast enough—”

“It’s a surefire win.” Clara looked at the field again, hands clenching around her glass. She took a deep gulp from it, coughing on the marshmallows because she’d forgotten they were there, and then looked around, eyes wide. “So if I were good at noticing it and keeping track of it, I would be a good addition to my house’s team, right?” She turned first to Cedric and then to Luisa. “Is the Slytherin seeker any good?”

It was Luisa’s face that fell first, and she shook her head almost as a warning. But she wasn’t quick enough.

“ _Slytherins play dirty!_ ” Cedric said, his teeth gritted together, his hands clenched into fists. “They push and they shove and they don’t play a clean game and they get away with it because Snape pays off Hooch! I don’t know _how_ , but he does it! There’s no other reason they’ve won so many games with so few penalties! The ref is just blind!”

Luisa winced and patted Clara’s hand. “Cedric takes Quidditch a little personally. Last year, one of the Slytherins knocked him off his broom and broke a couple of his ribs right when he was about to catch the Snitch, and then, while he was getting patched up, the Slytherin seeker snatched up the Snitch.”

“Well,” Clara said, “maybe, when _I’m_ on the team, I can make them better. Less antagonistic. Just because they’re mean now doesn’t mean they have to be mean in the future. I could change that!”

Cedric didn’t say anything in response, but his expression said everything Clara needed to know. He doubted her. Well, fine! She would prove him wrong! She would show him! She just…had to get on the Slytherin team first. Once she’d seen an actual game and knew how it was played. She was certain without even watching that the seeker position would be perfect for her. She was great at spotting things that were hiding in plain sight. That was _easy_.

“So,” Luisa started after a long pause, “how are things with Hermione? Was she okay? Doesn’t look like the troll got her.”

Clara had been avoiding bringing this up with Luisa. She _had_ said that Hermione hadn’t died, but beyond that, she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. She didn’t know if Luisa had noticed that or not, but she had seemed fine with talking about other things. It seemed like Luisa hadn’t tracked Hermione down to talk to her on her own. Clara almost wished she’d done that instead.

Instead of answering, Clara looked down into her hot chocolate, scuffing the tip of her red sneaker against the floor. “Haven’t talked with her.” She leaned forward so that she could see over the field, and as she did, she noticed other groups of tiny students and some with bigger students starting to climb up into the stands. They’d gotten there early for better seats, but soon they would probably feel crowded with how many people there would be. She took another sip of her hot chocolate, which had cooled off so much now that it couldn’t burn her tongue. “Guess she’s okay.”

“You still haven’t talked with her?” Luisa asked. “But you were so worried! I thought you had Potions together yesterday. Didn’t you talk to her then?”

“No.” Clara’s hand tightened on her glass goblet. “She made new friends with some of the bullies in her house. We don’t talk anymore.” She looked up and hoped that Luisa wouldn’t ask anything about it again. It was awkward talking about it at all, and it was even more awkward to talk about it around Bedelia and Cedric, who she didn’t know all that well. She didn’t want them to think she didn’t have friends other than Luisa.

As it was, Clara didn’t catch the look that Cedric gave Bedelia or the one she gave back. Instead, she stayed very still until Luisa touched her hand again. “I’m still your friend,” Luisa said, “and I’m sorry that making new friends means she doesn’t talk to you anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clara said. “I don’t need her.” She looked up and grinned. “I got you, after all. Don’t really need anyone else. One good friend’s better than lots of bad ones.”

Luisa opened her mouth as though to say something – whether good or bad, Clara couldn’t tell – but all of a sudden, there was a very loud yelling and stamping of feet on the stands. A few people shot fireworks out of their wands, only to be given a steady, withering look from one of the professors near them. There were two or more professors in each set of stands, probably to make sure that none of the students took part in anything too rowdy during the game. Professors Snape and Quirrell were in their set of stands, now that Clara was looking around. She was glad it was Snape and not just Quirrell. She’d never really gotten used to the strong scent of garlic in his room, and a part of her still held a grudge against him for the whole troll thing that prevented her from getting to Hermione before Potter and Weasley did, even though she knew it couldn’t possibly be his fault that a troll had gotten into the castle in the first place.

(Actually, Clara thought it might’ve been Janet. She couldn’t think of anyone else mean enough to let a troll into the castle, and she was _certain_ that Janet would’ve had more than enough time. Janet was the kind of person to eat her fill and then leave the dining hall long before anyone else did. But she couldn’t say anything about that. She didn’t have actual proof. She hadn’t seen anything, and she hadn’t noticed if Janet was there or not. Professors weren’t the sort of people who would listen to just her suspicions. Adults never did.)

Clara stood first on her feet and then, wanting to see a little better, stood on her bench so that she was a little bit taller. There was a sharp shove against her back – the person behind her suddenly had trouble seeing around her – and Luisa grabbed her robes and pulled her back down. “Don’t stand on the bench,” she said. “It’s not allowed.”

“But I can’t—”

All of a sudden, the yellow-haired girl standing in front of her moved just enough out of the way that Clara could see past her, and there were the two teams, all dressed in sports robes – red and gold for Gryffindor and emerald and silver for Slytherin. Of course, of course, there was Harry Potter, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose, bright green eyes looking around at the stands with wonder. He was shorter, scrawnier, than any of the other players on either team, and looking at them, Clara could see why Cedric didn’t like the Slytherin team all that much. It was full of big, brawny, thick boys – like the bullies at her old school, only a little thicker because they were older. As much as Clara looked at them, she couldn’t find one girl on their team, even though there were at least two on the Gryffindor team. She could feel herself getting upset at her team’s composition, too.

The cheering quieted down as the two teams met each other in the middle of the field, and two of the boys – Clara guessed they were the heads of their teams – shook hands. Then Hooch opened a wooden box. Two black balls bounced against each other and flew up into the sky, and one small golden one that Clara could barely make out hovered slightly above the box, beating its long, slender wings before zipping away _almost_ out of sight.

“So that’s the…the _Snitch_ , you called it?” Clara asked, leaning towards Cedric without turning away from the field.

The boy nodded once and leaned a little closer to her. “You’re keeping an eye on it already, right?”

“Of course.”

Then Hooch blew the whistle around her neck and threw the red soccer ball up into the air. The players kicked up on their broomsticks and suddenly _everything was moving really fast_. Clara’s gaze moved from the little golden ball to the rest of the game itself – to the players passing the red ball back and forth from one to the other and to the other team’s players trying their hardest to get the ball back, to the two redheaded boys on the Gryffindor team with huge wooden bats (like the kind they would use as punishment at her old school if you stepped too far out of line) who kept beating the sharper black balls at any Slytherin player they could find, and of course to the two seekers – the one from Slytherin, who was circling high above the field, looking for the little golden ball, and to Harry Potter, who seemed to be watching the game just as much as she was instead of paying attention to the golden ball.

Clara turned her gaze back to where the ball had been only to find that it had disappeared from its spot. Her eyes widened the slightest bit, and she glanced around the field trying to find it again. She could see how this could be hard. But she was certain, absolutely certain, that she would find it again!

“So do you still have eyes on the Snitch?” Cedric asked, leaning towards Clara again. He gave her a grin, but his eyes were still on the field.

Clara didn’t want to admit that she’d lost sight of it, so instead, she followed where his eyes were gazing. It had to be over there somewhere. Her eyes shifted among the crowds and then – _there!_ She grinned. “Found it.”

“Oh, so you _lost_ it, did you?”

Clara’s hands clenched into little fists. “I _found_ it, though. Didn’t lose it for too long.”

“That’s good,” Cedric said, never taking his eyes off of the field. “It’s easy to lose the Snitch on the field when you’re in the air because there’s so much going on. If you practice keeping your eye on it during the game – of losing it and then finding it again – then it’s good training that you can hold onto when you have to play a game and avoid bludgers and beaters and other players.”

Clara nodded in understanding. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luisa turn towards her and begin to watch her, but she couldn’t focus on that. Not if she wanted to keep track of the Snitch!

Then, all of a sudden, there was a _shove_ against her and a loud gasp, and Clara’s eyes tore away from the golden Snitch in frustration. “What’d you do that for?” she asked, but her voice was lost in the excited chattering.

It was then that Luisa nudged her arm and pointed upwards. “Look! Look at Harry!”

Potter was dangling in the air, zipping suddenly from one end to the other in a hectic sort of movement. Clara had a hard time following his sudden, jolting flying. It didn’t seem safe to her at all! Then, in another frantic movement, the broom began to bolt and buck like a colt, and after a few moments of this, Harry was thrown from the broom almost entirely! He was barely holding on with one hand!

_Show off._

Clara’s gaze left the boy hovering in the air with one hand holding onto his broom for dear life and began to move around the field again, looking for the Snitch, which she’d lost in all of the commotion. She glanced over to Cedric to see where he was looking, just like she had before, but then she caught sight of a lanky redheaded boy and a bushy-haired girl entering the stands just behind him. That Weasel kid and Hermione! What were they doing here?

Instead of turning back to the field, Clara watched as the two of them snuck through the crowd, knocked into Professor Quirrell, and stopped just behind Professor Snape. _What the hell_? Her eyes narrowed as Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it towards Snape, and Clara tapped Luisa, who turned to her, startled. “What?” Luisa asked. “What’s—?”

Clara turned Luisa towards where she was looking, and they both saw Hermione conjure blue flames onto the edge of Snape’s robes. “Hey!” Clara yelped, and she started towards the other two students just as Snape started stamping at his robes to try and put the flame out. Hermione glanced up, caught Clara’s eye, winced, and then moved the blue flame into a small glass jar and scampered out of the stands.

“Clara, look!”

At Luisa’s nudging, Clara turned around to see that Potter had gotten back onto his broomstick and was hurrying towards the ground. She looked towards where he was racing, only to catch the slightest glimpse of what appeared to be a flash of gold before his broom bucked one more time and he tumbled off of it. It didn’t take long before he stood up, gave a great hacking cough, and the golden ball fell from his between his lips.

Clara leaned towards Cedric. “Does that count? Or does he have to catch it with his hands?”

“It counts,” Cedric said, and he finally turned away from the field, unable to suppress his grin. “Which means that Gryffindor just beat Slytherin and _I’ve_ got someone who might actually be good enough to compete against.” He met Clara’s eyes. “How long did you keep eyes on the Snitch?”

“Long enough.” Clara’s hands clenched into fists again, and she barely noticed as Bedelia took her glass goblet and transfigured it back into a rock before casting it back to the floor. “I saw other things, too. Important things.”

Hermione things.

Cedric shrugged. “Well, keep it up. You might not be a half bad seeker one of these days.”

“I don’t think so,” Clara said. Not because she couldn’t do it, but because if being a seeker meant putting on all those theatrics that Potter kid did and setting fire to a professor’s robes the way Hermione did, then she didn’t want anything to do with the position. “But maybe I’ll do one of the other ones. One of the ones that lets me look around a bit. Maybe one of those people who hits the black balls at people. That’d be cool.”

But there wasn’t the same sense of excitement in her voice as there had been earlier. Cedric, at least, seemed to notice and didn’t pester her for more Quidditch discussions. The four of them left the stands, and Cedric and Bedelia separated, saying their goodbyes before crossing the grounds back toward the castle. Clara searched the crowd for Hermione and the Weasley kid, ignoring the others as they left her with Luisa.

“Clara,” Luisa said, hesitantly, “don’t do anything foolish.”

“It’s not foolish!” Clara exclaimed. “You saw her, too! She set fire to—” And then Clara caught sight of Hermione’s bushy hair and sped towards her without finishing what she was saying. As soon as she was close enough to her ex-friend, Clara gave her a strong shove, pushing her out of the crowd.

“Hey!” The redheaded boy turned to Clara with a glare and shoved her back. “What was that for?”

But Clara didn’t pay him any attention, getting her bearings again before pushing past him towards Hermione. “You set fire to Snape’s robes! What were you thinking?” She could feel her voice crack, which made her feel at once both more angry at Hermione and frustrated with herself. “He didn’t do anything to you!”

“He was jinxing Harry!” Hermione said, her brown eyes flashing darkly. “We had to stop him or Harry would have died!”

“Professors don’t jinx students!” Clara could feel herself yelling, and she stormed towards Hermione, her hands clenched into fists. “You just don’t like him because he’s the head of my house! You’ve got a grudge against Slytherins, both of you!”

Luisa grabbed hold of Clara’s robes and held her back so that she couldn’t keep going after Hermione the way she wanted to. “Clara, wait! Don’t get into a fight!”

“I know what I saw, Clara!” Hermione exclaimed, and her eyes moved to meet the Weasel kid’s. “Ron saw it, too.”

The redheaded boy gave a great nod. “Yeah!” he said, although he sounded a little less sure of himself. “He was looking straight at Harry and not blinking and muttering something to himself.”

“And that means he was _jinxing_ him.” Clara couldn’t keep the sneer out of her voice. She sounded like Draco, and she hated herself for that, but she didn’t mind talking to her ex-friend this way. Not right now. “Couldn’t have been the protection charms the professors have to do for the field or nothing. Had to be after your precious _Harry_. Couldn’t have been Harry just _showing off_.”

Weasley whirled to Clara with his wand out. “Harry’s not a show off. He’s one of the best—”

“He _is_! And he gets away with it, too! Harry gets on the team for being stupid in Flying, but Draco doesn’t get anything but punished. He shows off, and Snape gets caught on fire even though he wasn’t doing anything wrong!” Clara glared at the two Gryffindor students. She pulled her robes out of Luisa’s grip. “Sounds to me like that’s a prejudice against Slytherin! But then, I’ve known there was one of those from the beginning. You,” she turned the heat of her gaze to Hermione, “didn’t even want to _be_ friends with me anymore after the sorting just because I was in Slytherin. I don’t know why I thought you’d changed your mind.”

Clara turned to face Luisa, her teeth gritting together. “C’mon, Lu. Let’s go. They don’t deserve our time.”

Luisa looked from Clara over to Hermione. Her eyes were wide, but she gave a little nod. She had, after all, seen Hermione set fire to Snape’s robes. “Alright.” She met Hermione’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Clara said through her gritted teeth. “Unless you’re sorry we were ever friends with her to begin with.” Her eyes narrowed, and she stalked off, refusing to listen to anything Hermione was saying, _if_ she was saying anything at all. She noticed that it took a little bit, but then Luisa was by her side again, walking with her.

“You know, you didn’t have to—”

“She set fire to Snape’s robes, Lu!” Clara’s hands clenched into fists and then unclenched – all that angry energy that had nowhere to go. “Don’t defend her!” She hated this – that her anger now felt focused on Luisa when her friend hadn’t done anything wrong. Instead of heading back to the castle, Clara kept walking through the frigid air to the edge of the lake, to the tree they’d sat under weeks before. She punched the tree so hard that it felt like her knuckles would break.

When she moved to hit it again, Luisa grabbed her hand. “ _Don’t_ ,” she said, voice soft. “You’re only hurting yourself. That’s not good for you. It’s not good for anyone.”

“I don’t know what else to do!” Clara said, and she could feel herself crying. “I was friends with her and then she stopped talking to me and now’s she’s lying about my – about _Snape_ and setting fire to his robes and _I can’t believe I was friends with someone like that._ ” She refused to look at Luisa, instead staring down at the ground. Then she wiped her other hand across her eyes and stared at the lake. “I don’t know how the hat could’ve been so wrong. If Slytherin’s so bad, then _she_ should have been in Slytherin instead of me.”

Luisa didn’t say anything, didn’t object at all. Instead, she pulled Clara against her and gave her a tight hug. Clara startled at the sudden action – it had been so long since she’d had a hug, and even then, the last time it had been Luisa, too. But that had felt different than this one did. She crumpled against her friend, burying her head against her shoulder as Luisa began to rub one hand on her back.

They stood like that for a while until, finally, Clara stepped away. She rubbed a hand across her eyes again and sniffled once. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Luisa pulled on the edge of her sleeves. She shivered again in the silence, and after a few moments of it weighing a little too heavy on them, she turned to the castle. “Can we go inside?” she asked, her voice still soft and hesitant. “It’s really cold out here.”

“Oh.” Clara hadn’t even noticed. “Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry. I just…I needed to get away from everything.” She looked up. ‘You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

“I know.” Luisa shrugged and tried to smile. “But you’re my friend. I wanted to make sure you would be okay.”

Clara nodded once. “Yeah.” Then she gave Luisa a watery smile of her own. “Thanks.”

Then she reached out and took Luisa’s hand, giving it a little squeeze the same way Luisa had done with her so many times. They started back to the castle, still holding each other’s hands. “Next time, tell me I have to be upset _inside_ so that you don’t freeze.”

Luisa giggled. “Okay.” She knocked into Clara as they continued to walk inside, and Clara felt like, even though she’d gone through the ringer in terms of one of her friends, she’d also found one of the best friends she’d ever had – maybe _the_ best. She couldn’t imagine having a better friend than Luisa.


	11. The Kitchens

The weather outside grew frigid as November faded into December. There was even a snowstorm during the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Quidditch match, one so thick that Clara had a hard time seeing any of the players zooming about the stadium. She didn’t even try to look for the Snitch, and she wasn’t surprised when it was Cedric who found it and finished the game with a win for his house. She’d grown even more excited about Quidditch in the weeks after that first match, and when she’d found out there was an entire book about the sport, she had, against all probability, decided to try and get it out of the library. She hadn’t been able to find it, but someone must have mentioned her interest to Professor Snape, because shortly thereafter he had approached her with the library copy of the book. This only reinforced her opinion of her head of house; no one who paid that much attention to their students and went out of their way to help them could be as bad as Hermione suggested. Certainly he hadn’t deserved to be burned.

But as the holidays drew closer, classes grew more frantic. Maybe it was the building excitement: most of the students would be going home for the break and wanted nothing more than to see their families again and perhaps show them some of what they had been learning. But Clara didn’t share in their excitement. She had no desire to go back and see Elena, no matter how much she might miss her dad, and it seemed that Elena felt the same way; there was no invitation, no letter suggesting she should pack up or think she should return for the holidays at all. So she didn’t.

Luisa, on the other hand, couldn’t help but constantly mention how excited she was to be returning home. While she certainly enjoyed being at Hogwarts, there were certain things it couldn’t give her – particularly well-prepared Mexican food, which she had been craving for the past three months. And, of course, she couldn’t wait to see her little brother. Luisa hadn’t said much about Rafael, but Clara knew from what little she said just how much she loved him. Clara was just happy she didn’t have a little brother of her own (and as nice as Rafael might be, the fact that he was _Elena’s_ son just made her more wary of him, despite how young he might be).

Clara sat through her last Potions class with Janet, bored out of her mind and worried that the holiday break would be just as boring, considering how many people were leaving the castle. It was only then that she overheard Draco’s comment in that sneering, bragging, nasally tone of his: “I feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

Her head snapped up, and she glared in his direction. The only thing that kept her from saying anything at all was that his eyes weren’t on her but were focused entirely on Potter and Weasley. She followed his gaze to where Potter was sitting, his face a mixed expression of barely contained anger and chagrin. Weasley’s face, on the other hand, had grown a bright, shining red, probably from the same anger that Potter was containing much better than he was. But Hermione reached over and placed a hand on both of their shoulders before leading them out of the classroom.

Clara shoved past Janet and through the crowd. She didn’t want to hear any more about how she was _unwanted_ – Potter, at least, clearly _was_ wanted because his parents had died for him; Clara knew that she fit better in that _unwanted_ category – her mother had left her, abandoned her, _did not want her_ – and it sat in the pit of her stomach, coiled there like a snake waiting to strike and devour any of her other, happier feelings. But as she left the classroom, Clara felt a hand on her shoulder, too, and she whirled to find Hermione waiting for her. “What do you want?” she asked, her teeth gritting together. She was already on edge; she didn’t want to deal with Hermione, too.

“I just wanted to see if you were going home for the holidays, too,” Hermione said, voice small and almost embarrassed.

Clara glared at her. “Why does it matter?” she asked, shivering once. The dungeons had gotten particularly cold as the weather changed, and she could see her breath coming out in little puffs as she spoke. She shoved her gloved hands into her pockets and stalked off. “Not like you care or anything.”

Hermione caught up to her a few seconds later, and she seemed to struggle under the weight of more books than she’d normally been in the habit of carrying with her before. “Well, I thought,” Hermione started, “if you _weren’t_ going home, although I don’t know _why_ you wouldn’t, you’d consider coming back with me instead.” She paused, but Clara kept walking, and Hermione scurried to catch up. “My parents said I could invite someone with me if I wanted – I just got the letter today – and I thought—”

“We’re not _friends_ anymore, Hermione.” Clara didn’t stop moving, but she hunched forward. She didn’t want to talk about this. Only a month ago, she would have been excited to spend the holidays with Hermione, but right now, after that same month spent not talking to her and not wanting anything to do with her and with no previous attempt on Hermione’s part to bridge that gap, she didn’t want to spend that much alone time with her. “I’d rather spend all the holidays in Potions than spend any of it with you.”

Maybe it was worse because she wasn’t spitting it at her in anger, that she was saying it as calmly as she said anything – which really wasn’t _that_ calm but couldn’t be described as full-bridled rage either. Clara didn’t turn to face Hermione, who faded away behind her. She thought maybe, finally, she was done with the conversation.

But Hermione caught up to her right as she was turning into the dining hall. “Look, Clara,” she grabbed her arm, trying to keep Clara from continuing on without her. “I’m sorry for not talking with you, but I’ve been really busy. Harry and Ron and I have been—”

Clara whirled to face Hermione, upset that the other girl wasn’t letting her leave and was trying to force her to stay in a conversation that she didn’t want to have. Just like Elena did. “Hermione, I don’t really care what you and Potter and that Weasel kid have been up to. If it’s got anything to do with trying to burn Snape, I’m not interested, and unless you’re sorry for that, I don’t really want to talk to you anymore.”

“ _He was jinxing—_ ”

“No, he wasn’t.” Clara glared at Hermione. Whatever she thought he’d been doing, he hadn’t, and that was that.

“ _We saw—_ ”

“I didn’t.” Clara shrugged. “Just saw you setting him on fire. Because you _thought_ he was doing something. You don’t got any proof, Hermione.” She tore her arm out of Hermione’s grasp. “And I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Then she stalked off into the dining hall, where she sat at the Slytherin table just next to the Hufflepuff one, just like she always did. She watched, not really concerned, as Hermione stayed in the entrance to the dining hall, took a deep breath, and then moved away to join her other friends – Potter and Weasley – who had met up with Hagrid the groundskeeper, who was carting a huge tree into the hall.

It wasn’t long before Luisa sat down behind her at the Hufflepuff table, tapping her on the shoulder. She had a huge smile on her face as Clara turned to face her. “I saw you talking with Hermione!” she said, voice bright. “Is everything going better? Are you friends again now?”

Clara’s brow furrowed. “ _No._ Don’t know why you would think that.” She took a bite of her chicken pot pie. She’d gotten used to the crumbly texture of the castle’s food over the past few months, and while she no longer felt unhappy or compared it to her mom’s cooking (the way she never had with Elena’s cooking because there was no comparison), she still couldn’t help but think about it every now and again. Still, it wasn’t _bad_. Just different.

“Well, then, what were you two talking about?” Luisa asked, her head tilting to one side.

Clara shrugged. “She wanted to ask me over with her for the holidays. I said no.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Luisa nodded rapidly, and she took a sandwich of her own from the Hufflepuff table. She took a bite. “Yeah, I would’ve said no, too. Wouldn’t want to miss my family. And it’s a little close to be asking now.” She blinked. “You said no because you’re going back to your family, right?”

“No.” Clara gave Luisa a strange look. “I said no because Hermione and I aren’t friends anymore.” She took another bite of her pot pie, avoiding Luisa’s gaze. “And I’m staying here for the break. Elena doesn’t want me going back, and I don’t want to see her, either.” It was easier to focus on her food as she continued, “Wish I could stay here over the summer, too, but I don’t think they’ll let me do that.”

Luisa nudged Clara once. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve seen if Dad would let you come back with me!”

Clara’s head whipped up, and she gave Luisa a look that she wasn’t sure she could have explained if she’d been asked. “Really? You would have?”

“Yeah! Of course!” Luisa smiled. “You’re my friend, after all, and staying here over the holidays isn’t bad, but going with a friend is probably more fun. Especially if you’re here all by yourself.”

Clara shook her head. “I _won’t_ be by myself,” she said, but it wasn’t a happy admittance. “Draco was making fun of Potter earlier, so it sounds like he’s staying, too. And Weasley got all red in the face, so probably him, too.”

“Oh, and Bedelia!” Luisa said. She turned and nodded towards the pretty blonde sixth year, who was sitting far enough away with her friends that she likely couldn’t hear what they were saying. “She’s here every year over Christmas break. I think it’s that her family doesn’t really have the money to do all that traveling.”

“Oh.” Clara didn’t really know what to say to that. She pulled her robes a little tighter about her. There was a nice fire blazing in one of the fireplaces in the hall, but she still felt cold. It was weird. She normally didn’t feel very cold at all, except in the dungeons and during Potions. Maybe it was left over from that.

Luisa reached over and patted her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’ll still have a great holiday break. I _know_ you will.” She grinned. “With all that free time, you could probably explore the castle and find all sorts of things I never would have thought of!”

Clara nodded once, hesitantly, and then a second time, more firmly. “I guess, yeah.”

“And you can share it with me when I get back.”

Clara nodded a third time. “I guess. If I find something cool that you didn’t find last year or anything like that.” She shuffled her feet beneath the Slytherin table.

Luisa’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “How will you know if I’ve seen it or not if you don’t show me?”

“I could _tell_ you about it.”

“But it’s more fun if you show me.”

Clara finished her pot pie, but it didn’t make her feel any warmer. What she _wanted_ was a hot drink – and almost as soon as she thought it, there it was, a steaming goblet of hot chocolate. She took it in her hands and gulped it down so quick that she burned her tongue and the roof of her mouth, and she could feel it burn all the way down her throat. It hurt, but in a good way.

“You’ll have fun over Christmas, right, Lu?” Clara asked. “You’ll get to see all your friends back there and everything?”

“I don’t really have friends back there,” Luisa admitted. “There are some wizarding schools before you get sent to places like Hogwarts, but I haven’t really kept in touch with friends from any of them. American wizarding schools are so different from Hogwarts. They made new friends, and I made new friends, and we…we don’t really see each other anymore.”

“Like me and Hermione,” Clara said, noticing the comparison.

But Luisa just shook her head. “No. You and Hermione aren’t friends anymore because you got mad and stopped talking to her.”

“She stopped talking to me first,” Clara snapped, “and then she caught my head of house on fire.”

Luisa winced. “Yeah. I guess. But none of my friends in America did anything like that. We’d probably still be friends if I’d gone to one of the schools there. Dad just wanted me here at Hogwarts. Said he didn’t trust anyone there as much as he trusted Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore?” Clara asked. “But he’s…he’s _batty_ , isn’t he?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, although she didn’t know why it did. It wasn’t like she cared if anyone overheard what she said, unless it was Dumbledore himself, and even then, if the headmaster didn’t want to seem like an old kook, maybe he shouldn’t act like one.

Luisa shrugged. “Dumbledore’s a really really powerful wizard,” she said. “He beat the last dark wizard before You Know Who.”

“Voldemort,” Clara said, making sure she had the name right.

“ _You Know Who_ ,” Luisa repeated, just as intense in her correction as the yellow-haired girl had been when Clara had been speaking with Hermione about it. “The last dark wizard before him, when my dad was a kid, I think. His name was Grindelwald. He was _really really bad_.”

“Worse than You Know Who?” Clara asked.

“I don’t know,” Luisa admitted. “I don’t know as much about him. You Know Who kind of…made everyone afraid who wasn’t before. But he’s said to be scared of Dumbledore, too, so that’s got to mean something.”

“I guess.” Clara finished her mug of hot chocolate and felt a lot better. Warmer, anyway. “Look, I’ve got a free period, if you want to get out and talk for a little bit.” She smiled. “You and the others all leave tomorrow, right?”

Luisa nodded. “Right.”

“I’d like to…to hang out, for a little bit, before you have to go. Okay?”

“Okay.” Luisa grinned. She took a thermos out of her bag and filled it with hot chocolate from one of the goblets on the table. “I’m ready when you are.”

Clara giggled. “You might want to bundle up a bit more first. Get your scarf and gloves. I want to go outside, and you’re gonna _freeze_.”

* * *

Two days later and Luisa was gone, along with the other students who had decided to leave for the holiday break. Clara came down for dinner and found that the dining hall was almost completely abandoned. Hollow, even. She wondered if her voice would echo just as loud in the empty hall as Dumbledore’s and Quirrell’s had on her birthday, not that there wasn’t anyone to try and speak over her. But she didn’t try. The professors were still here, after all, and she didn’t want to get into trouble over the break.

It was nice, though, to come into the Slytherin common room and not have to worry about Draco or his little gang, not to worry about running into any of the other obnoxious students in her class – but there was one exception to all of this. Janet, much to Clara’s dismay, was also staying at Hogwarts over the break. A normal person might have been intrigued by this, but Clara didn’t care. She was just sad that one of the people she’d hoped to not have to deal with was staying, too.

Still, with the entire castle almost completely to herself, it was easy to avoid Janet. It was easy to avoid Potter and Weasley, too, and while Clara didn’t have as much of a grudge against Potter – he, after all, hadn’t set fire to Snape’s robes like Hermione and Weasley did, and no matter how jealous of him Clara might be, that made him slightly better in her book – it felt like it would be impossible to try and talk with him without also running into that other boy. And she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Maybe it was easier to avoid them because Weasley was avoiding her, too, but she couldn’t be sure about that.

But otherwise it was exactly the way Luisa had thought it would be – it was _lonely_. Clara kept turning around to the Hufflepuff table as though Luisa was still there to carry on a conversation with her just as she always did only to be reminded that her friend wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

The dining hall itself – in fact, the whole entryway to the castle – was decorated as much as possible for everyone who was still there. The groundskeeper, Hagrid, had brought in more than a few huge trees from the Forbidden Forest, and the professors had made it seem as though they were all covered in snow, as well as coating them with tons of decorations, covering them with designs from top to bottom. They were _beautiful_ , and they reminded Clara of what it had been like to celebrate Christmas with her mom and dad before her mom had abandoned them. After her mom left, her dad hadn’t been even remotely interested in decorating for the holidays, instead spending most of his time drinking. The only thing that changed once he’d married Elena was that he wasn’t drinking through them anymore.

Clara spent the morning of Christmas Eve walking the now snow-covered grounds and then stripped out of her thick winter robes, changing back into her lighter ones for lunch. The Slytherin common area now felt stifling warm with the constantly roaring fireplace, despite the huge windows into the lake and the surrounding dungeons, and most areas of the castle, though not nearly as hot as the Slytherin common area, were still warm enough that she didn’t feel the need to be all bundled up. Besides, she didn’t like wearing her leather gloves if she didn’t have to; she liked the feel of her wand in her hand, liked being able to feel anything that might be soft on her palm. And, of course, she didn’t want to get food all over her gloves, either.

Shortly after she sat down, Clara felt a hand on her back, and she whirled around, already frustrated. _Janet should know better—_

But it wasn’t Janet who had touched her so softly. Instead, it was the pretty blonde sixth year that Luisa sometimes ran around with: Bedelia. The blonde girl seemed to notice the widening of Clara’s eyes and her angry demeanor, and her expression shifted into one of concern, soft blue eyes searching Clara’s own. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Clara said, shaking her head a couple of times and gazing elsewhere. “I just thought you were someone else.”

Bedelia’s gaze moved along the Slytherin table, rested on Janet for a moment, and then returned to Clara. “I do hope that I am not interrupting you. Perhaps I should return later.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that!” Clara moved over a little bit on the bench, even though there wasn’t anyone sitting next to her on either side to begin with. “You can sit down, if you want. Or is the house thing still an issue? _Can_ you sit with me?”

Bedelia’s expression softened again, and she smiled, tight-lipped. “No one cares about house rules over break. We are who we are, nothing more.” Her fingers began to tap against each other. “In fact, I was wondering if you would like to join me and my house tomorrow. There are a few of us still here for the holidays, and it has become quite a tradition for Hufflepuff to throw a holiday party for those left behind.”

Clara didn’t like that phrase – _left behind_ – and it sat in the middle of her chest like a ton of bricks. She swallowed once. “I don’t know where the Hufflepuff common room is,” she said, voice suddenly soft, “and I wouldn’t have anything to bring with me.”

“There is no need to bring anything, unless you have something you want to share.” Bedelia finally sat down next to her. “If you would like, I can show you where our house is so that you might find it tomorrow.” She gazed down next to Clara’s platter of food and her goblet of cinnamon hot chocolate. “I can wait until you are finished, of course.”

Clara nodded with a bright grin. “Thank you. That’d be really cool! Just give me a few more minutes, and I’ll be ready to go with you!”

“Of course.”

Instead of returning to the Hufflepuff table, Bedelia stayed next to Clara, sipping on her own drink, which seemed to be of a creamier, milkier substance than Clara’s hot chocolate. She must have already eaten before approaching her, though, because she didn’t eat anything while she waited on Clara to finish. But every now and again, Clara caught her gaze shifting over to Janet, who may not have been the _only_ other person at the Slytherin table but was certainly the only other one sitting by herself.

“I wouldn’t talk to her, if I were you,” Clara said as her now empty plate and goblet disappeared, and she stood, brushing her hands together to get the last of the crumbs off of them. “She’s really mean. She even threatened to kill me once.”

Bedelia’s eyes widened the slightest bit, though nowhere near as much as Clara thought they would. “Did she?”

“Yeah! I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And yet Bedelia’s gaze still returned to Janet, briefly, before she led Clara out of the dining hall.

* * *

Bedelia led Clara deeper into the castle, to an area much warmer and cheerier than the dank, freezing dungeons in which the Slytherin dormitory was located. They talked as they walked – or, to be more accurate, _Clara_ talked, uneasy with the silence that otherwise lingered between them. Mostly she talked about the holidays, and every now and again Bedelia would ask a question that prompted her to continue. She tried to avoid talking about her parents when she could, but somehow the conversation turned to them anyway.

“I used to bake with my mom when I was younger,” Clara said as they turned down another corridor. “She was a baker. It’s a Muggle thing, I guess, because all of the food here seems magicked into place, and she didn’t do any of that. She was _really good_ , too. None of the breads or pastries here live up to anything she made. But maybe that’s because she was good at potions – Snape told me because he’d heard of her – and baking’s just like potions, just with food instead of with…well, whatever it is we’re doing in Potions.” She sighed. “We used to make Christmas cookies together, but….”

They stopped in front of a dead end, its wall empty other than a group of barrels, and her voice faded away. “Why are we stopping?” Clara asked. “Is this the entrance to Hufflepuff?”

“It is.” Bedelia glanced over to the barrels but didn’t say anything about how to enter it. “If you come here tomorrow, any time after lunch, and knock on that wall, there will be someone inside waiting for you.” She turned to face Clara, and for the first time, she appeared to be something other than normal. Usually, she appeared calm and collected and in full control of herself, and although that control hadn’t faded, there was something about her that seemed a little happier than she had before. “Would you like to make cookies with me?” she asked, almost completely unprompted until Clara remembered that she’d mentioned it herself. “I make some every year before the party, and if you would like to help, then you are more than welcome.”

“Sure!” Clara grinned. “Are we able to cook here?” She hadn’t heard about anything like that. Sure, there were cauldrons, but those were for potions and _soup_ , _maybe_ – if your cauldron was clean enough. You couldn’t bake cookies in a cauldron. Or maybe Bedelia was talking about some magical way of making cookies? Clara wasn’t as excited about that, but it would certainly be something new to learn and something she could show Luisa when she got back. Then again, Luisa probably already knew how to make food with magic. Bedelia was her friend, too, after all.

Bedelia laughed – a very, very small thing – and then she covered her mouth with one hand as though to hide it. “You _can_ cook here, if you know where the kitchens are.”

“Kitchens?” Clara echoed, her eyes wide. “There are kitchens?”

“Of course.” Bedelia smiled, and it seemed like she was excited, although she was still just as cool and calm as before – or trying to be. “Here, let me show you.”

And Bedelia led Clara only a little ways back down the corridor to where a still life painting of different fruits loomed large on the wall. She gave Clara a grin – and it looked _weird_ for Bedelia to _grin_ – before turning away and tickling the pear. The huge painting seemed to laugh, and then it swung outward, revealing another room.

 _How many paintings hide rooms?_ Clara wondered, although she didn’t say it out loud. She decided to play with this later. Maybe there were a lot of other hidden areas she could find, if she just played around with things enough. And with the emptiness of the break, she had more than enough time to check without having to worry about who might see her.

“Come on.” Bedelia gestured with one hand as she walked through the new, large entrance, expecting Clara to follow.

Clara wasn’t particularly _short_ , but she was shorter than Bedelia was just because she was younger and hadn’t hit her final growth spurt yet. Where Bedelia could hop over the lower part of the wall into the entrance, Clara had to be more careful – by which we mean that Clara _definitely_ tried to hop and _definitely_ banged her knee against the stone wall and _definitely_ had to prop her hand onto the stone to clamber up a little more carefully than she had before so that she didn’t bang her knee again (and her knee _definitely_ smarted when she leaned against it as she climbed up into the entrance). So she went through the entryway a little bit behind Bedelia, a little bit slower, dusting her hands against the edges of her robes to try and make sure that it didn’t look like she’d banged her leg against the stone wall – as though she hadn’t had trouble getting in at all.

The entryway was a little bit longer than Clara expected it to be, but it widened as it went so that, when she reached the end, it was wide enough to be the entire wall through which she entered – or, at least, it seemed to be that way, but as she walked through into the kitchens, she found that this was not so at all. Her eyes widened as she took in the huge ceilings and chamber that was the kitchen. There were five tables situated just like there were in the dining hall, which she guessed was directly above them: four tables were set up vertically where the tables for the four houses were and one was set up horizontally further up where the table for the professors was. There were stoves and ovens placed against each wall so that it was hard to even see the walls themselves behind them, and there was a huge fireplace in one corner with racks across it in case something needed to be grilled.

But what was even more astonishing than the room itself were the little creatures now standing in front of Bedelia, frowning up at her. They were dressed in what appeared to be pillowcases that were stained and dirty and looked as though they’d never been washed, even though they didn’t smell at all. The creatures had long, pointed ears and great big eyes that turned to take her in just as soon as she entered.

Clara smiled and raised one hand, waggling her fingers in a little wave. “Hi,” she said to the creatures with a bright grin. “I’m Clara. It’s…. Are you the chefs?”

“Yes,” Bedelia answered, and she gave Clara a smile. The creatures gave her a begrudging look, and then most of them went back to different stations along the walls while a few went to two ovens and counters next to them, clearing them off. Bedelia began to walk over to those, and Clara followed her. “They are what are known as house elves,” she explained. “They work here in the kitchens, and they will help you with whatever you need. They like to help; you can ask them for anything to eat, and they will give it to you.”

Clara frowned. “Then why did they look so unhappy with you?”

“They do not like it when someone else uses their kitchens to cook. Without a professor or the headmaster telling them otherwise, though, they must give us space to do what we like.” Bedelia smiled, but it was the same as it had been before – devoid of any real excitement or mirth and hard to read. “I believe that the headmaster allows us to spend time in the kitchen, if we find it, because he knows that cooking is its own special kind of magic, even if it isn’t one that they teach here.”

“That sounds nice,” Clara said, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I think that’s how Mom’s bakery used to do so well. She must have used a bit of magic in her baking.”

“Or she may have been that good.”

Clara hadn’t thought of that. But with these house elf creatures who must have been cooking for years and years and years, how could her mom have been better without magic? Clara couldn’t see it.

“So,” Bedelia started, “you make the cookies your mom used to make, and I will make the kind I make.”

“We won’t bake them together?” Clara asked. She stopped in front of the ovens and looked over the wooden counter space between them, where there were some ingredients but not near enough for what she barely remembered her mother making. “And what happens if I need stuff that’s not here?”

“We will be cooking right next to each other, so we can still talk.” Then Bedelia looked over to the house elves. “If there is anything you need that is not in there, you only need to ask them. They will bring you everything you need.”

“Do they have names?” Clara asked. She glanced over to the house elves, who, for the most part, were trying their best to ignore them. “Or do you just call them _house elf_ or…?” She wasn’t sure how else to explain her question. Her brow furrowed.

“It depends on the kind of wizard you are.”

Clara’s brow furrowed even deeper than it had before. “What do you mean?”

At first, Bedelia didn’t answer her question. Instead, she focused on her ingredients, separating them and mixing them. Clara looked down at what she had on her own counter and moved a few of them around. She bit her lower lip and turned to one of the house elves. “Um,” she started, “there are a few things I still need.” She tried to remember what else there was, and she listed them off.

When she was done, the house elf snapped, and the ingredients appeared as though from nowhere.

_Wow._

“Hogwarts is a complicated place,” Bedelia said, finally, as Clara began to mix her ingredients as best she could remember them. “I am sure you have met people who deal with you differently just because you are in Slytherin. I remember how you reacted to Luisa.”

“That was a long time ago,” Clara said, blushing furiously. “We’re better now.”

Bedelia nodded. “I know.” She glanced down at her bowl. “But the treatment of house elves is just as fraught and tense as how you believe you are treated for being in Slytherin. Perhaps worse.” She took a deep breath. “I am not sure we have enough time to get into all of it right now.” It was another moment before she continued. “I do not think I am the best person to explain this.”

“Oh,” Clara said, because it was all she could think to say. She looked away. “We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want.”

“Thank you.” Bedelia seemed to relax then abruptly changed the subject. “I do have one requirement, if you wish to join our party tomorrow.”

Clara froze. She blinked a couple of times and even stopped stirring her batter. “A requirement?” she asked finally, trying not to look in Bedelia’s direction. She hoped it wasn’t a spell or anything like that. But what else could a sixth year want from her? She didn’t really have anything to give. She looked down at the figurine she still wore around her neck and frowned. She hoped it wasn’t _that_. Bedelia _couldn’t_ want that. And even if she did, Clara wouldn’t give it to her. She couldn’t!

“It is not anything too hard or extraneous.” Bedelia didn’t look up from her stirring either. “I simply want you to invite that other Slytherin first year who is with you over break. No one should be alone over Christmas.”

“ _Janet?!_ ” Clara couldn’t keep her voice from cracking. Bedelia _couldn’t_ mean her! “You don’t know what she’s like!” she exclaimed. “She tried to kill me our first week here! You can’t be serious!”

Bedelia stood very still and didn’t say anything for a long time. Clara wondered if maybe Bedelia hadn’t heard her at all, but there was no way that was the case. Still, as long as Bedelia wasn’t saying anything, that meant she could pretend she didn’t have to ask Janet. Bedelia had to understand that asking Janet was _dangerous_. Janet wouldn’t be any good at a party. She would ruin everything!

But then, eventually, Bedelia continued, “I do not doubt that she threatened to kill you, and if she had ever harmed you, I would not ask such a thing of you. However, it is quite possible that she simply did not know how to act on her first week here. Has she tried to kill you since then?”

“No,” Clara said hesitantly, “but she threatened to hex a lot of people, and—” She stopped suddenly. She couldn’t remember the last time Janet threatened to hex anyone. In fact, the last time there was any mention of it, it was _Clara_ threatening to have Janet hex someone and not Janet doing any threatening at all. She frowned. “She’s mean. She’s _always_ mean. She’ll make your party no fun.”

“I will take that into consideration and make sure that there are precautions in place should she turn out to be as disastrous as you say she is.” Bedelia began to mold her cookie dough into little balls. “But as there is a possibility that things will turn out right, that is still my requirement. Invite her to come with you tomorrow. If she chooses not to join, that is up to her, but if she decides to join, then bring her with you.” She turned to face Clara and waited until her eyes were on her. “As I said before, there is no reason that anyone should be alone on Christmas, no matter how cruel you may believe them to be.”

Clara frowned and didn’t say anything in response. What _could_ she say? There wasn’t anything she hadn’t already. She’d just have to ask Janet to go to the party with her. Janet would probably say _no_ anyway, and then Clara would have done just what she was supposed to do and then there wouldn’t be any problem at all.

But what if Janet said _yes_? Clara would have to walk with her all the way to the Hufflepuff dormitory! But that would probably be okay. She slept in that big four-poster bed right next to Janet, after all, and despite all of the threats, they hadn’t had any real problems. So walking that short way couldn’t be too much of an issue. She hoped.

“Fine,” Clara said with her lips pressed together into a thin line. “I’ll ask her. But if she doesn’t come, it isn’t my fault, and if she hexes everyone, I warned you and it isn’t my fault either.” Her voice was very firm, and she gave Bedelia the sternest stare she could.

As a point in Bedelia’s favor, she did not smile or laugh at Clara’s words of warning. Instead, she gave a solemn nod and seemed to take them as seriously as Clara meant them. “Just make sure that you ask.”

“I will.”

Clara looked at her pan covered with cookies in different shapes and sizes, took a deep breath, and then opened the oven and set them inside. Hopefully they would taste alright. It’d been so long since she’d made any cookies with her mom that she was worried she might have gotten something wrong. She scanned the room again. She wasn’t really hungry because they’d just had lunch, but it was awfully hot in the kitchen right next to the oven and she was getting kind of thirsty. So she went over to one of the house elves and bent down so that she was a little closer to face level with them.

“Yes, miss?” the house elf asked, its wide eyes staring unblinkingly at her.

“Do you have any pumpkin juice? You don’t have to make any for me or get it for me, if you do. You can just tell me where it is and I can get it for myself.”

“But it’s easier for us to get it for you, miss.” The house elf gave her a small smile and snapped its long fingers just the same way the other one earlier had. All at once, a goblet of pumpkin juice appeared on the counter behind them. “Is that all?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Clara grinned. “And you don’t have to call me _miss_. My name’s Clara.”

“Yes, Miss Clara.”

Clara shook her head. “No, no, just Clara.”

The house elf nodded again. “Yes, Miss Clara.”

“No, no _Miss_ , just Clara.” Clara frowned and turned to Bedelia. “Why won’t they just call me Clara?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” Bedelia said with a little smile.

But Clara just shook her head. It wasn’t worth it. She could be Miss Clara if she had to be. She just didn’t _like_ it.

Their cookies were done shortly thereafter, and Bedelia took them and asked the house elves to keep them safe with the rest of the food for the Hufflepuff party tomorrow. A couple of them gave her strange, unhappy looks, but they did as they were told. Instead of snapping them away as Clara thought they would, the house elves took the platters and walked off to another area of the kitchen with them. When Clara asked if they needed to clean up after themselves, Bedelia showed her that their dirty dishes were already gone, and when Clara looked for her by now quite empty goblet of pumpkin juice, she found that it had disappeared as well. Since they were done, the two girls left the kitchens and went their separate ways.

Clara spent the rest of that day and later that night trying to get up the courage to bring the party up to Janet, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t like Janet, and she didn’t want her to go to the party with her. She knew she didn’t have much of a choice, but maybe it would be easier to ask tomorrow. It would be Christmas, after all. That certainly made spending time with Elena a little bit easier, because she was so distracted, so Clara expected it would make talking to Janet easier, too.


	12. Pity Presents

The next morning, Clara woke bright and early, but outside, it didn’t look like either of those. The sunlight – what little there was – filtered through the ice covering the lake and streamed white and green and blue through the window behind her bed. She rubbed her hands across her eyes and sat up, staring, blinking, at the end of her bed. She’d pulled the curtain around her so that no one – _Janet_ , there wasn’t anyone else here – would interrupt her. She wiggled her feet, and Cat, who was curled up nearby with his head resting just atop one of them, looked up, blinked his one great golden green eye at her, and stretched. He batted at the edge of the curtains and then leapt down off of the bed with a thud. Clara yawned and pulled back her curtain, wondering briefly what the professors might have planned for the day. Something like the Hufflepuff party maybe, only not nearly as intimate.

That train of thought stopped as soon as Clara saw what lay at the edge of her bed: presents! There were so many more than she’d ever had before on Christmas morning, at least not since her mom left, and she hadn’t thought she would get any at all – maybe one from her dad, _maybe_ , but she had thought that one would have flown in with Elena’s owl and arrived during breakfast. But as she dropped to the floor where the pile of presents waited, she found a small box wrapped in plain green paper with a silver ribbon and with a letter attached – and it had her dad’s handwriting on it! Clara pulled that one out of the pile first and ripped the paper off of it without a second thought.

Inside was a little cardboard box, and inside of that was another little wooden figurine. This one was another little Clara – the same frizzy red hair, the same black robes with green and silver highlights – but instead of holding a sparking wand, she was atop an equally tiny broomstick. It had the same hoop or hole on the back – this time just under the figurine’s frizzy hair – and Clara reached for the silver chain still hanging around her neck to unclasp it so that she could put this second figurine on it, too.

“Need any help with that?”

Clara’s head popped up to see Janet sitting on the edge of her own bed. Cat the cat was curled up in her lap and washing his battered ear and his missing, scarred eye with his one stubby black paw as she brushed her hand through his short, greasy black fur. Janet didn’t even seem to be paying much attention to Clara at all, so Clara wasn’t sure she’d heard her right.

“What’d you say?”

Janet looked up but didn’t stop petting her cat. “I asked if you needed any help. Like when I put it on the first time. I could take it off for you.”

“No. That’s okay.” Clara found the clasp and undid it herself. “See? Got it.” She looked down and away from Janet just long enough to get her new figurine on the chain, and then she put it back on. Then she gave Janet a small smile. “Didn’t need your help. But, uh, thanks for asking.”

Janet just nodded. She picked Cat up, and he meowed once – a sound that didn’t seem to be in objection to her actions in the slightest. Then she moved further back into her bed and closed the curtains around her.

That was odd.

Clara pulled her necklace down so that the two figurines hung just above her chest, where she could look down and see them whenever she wanted. She smiled once and then turned to the rest of her packages, quickly making short work of most of the smaller ones first. She’d learned, when she was younger, that if she left the big ones for last, then they wouldn’t make the small ones seem small in comparison.

One of her presents seemed to be her own personal copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_ and a bag full of candy. This was from Hermione. Clara threw the book back onto her bed. She hadn’t talked about Quidditch with her ex-friend at all, so Hermione had to have learned about that from someone else. It made her really uncomfortable to think about Hermione asking people about her so that she could know what to get. She decided not to eat any of the candy, either. What she might do with it, she didn’t know, but she didn’t want a present from someone who only pretended to be her friend when it was convenient for her.

Another one of her presents was a bag of candy – this time from Susanna Barnett, who she still sat with in classes sometimes. Well, that was alright. It looked to be the exact same kind of candy Hermione had sent her, so maybe it was like a pat present you could get. She hadn’t known about that, though. Clara put it on her dresser so that it was separate from the bag she’d received from Hermione – this candy she could eat, and quite happily, too, while that candy she didn’t want at all. Maybe she’d just send Hermione the candy back. That would imply that she was happy to keep the book, though, and she wasn’t sure what to do about that.

There were also two unmarked packages, and while Clara was immensely curious about both of those, she put them both to the side. What she was _really_ interested in was the large present that seemed to be hiding under an emerald velvety curtain of its own. She pulled the curtain away and—

_An owl!_

There, beneath the emerald curtain, was a cage with the owl with golden brown feathers and a white face that she had seen at the pet shop back in Diagon Alley. It blinked its large black eyes at her and ruffled its wings. That was when she noticed that so much more of it was white than she had thought – everything, almost, except a golden brown circle and peak around its face, a deep V trailing each end from its eyes, and then, of course, its wings. And even its wings were so much more beautiful than she remembered – that golden brown with darker browns and edges and—

_Wow!_

There was a card attached to the outside of the cage, and Clara pulled it away, reading it as quickly as possible.

Merry Christmas Clara!

I know you said Elena wouldn’t buy you an owl and then you didn’t tell me about your birthday and I thought it would be fine if I got you this one! Dad and I saw her in Diagon Alley after he picked me up at the station! Or. I begged him to take me back for Christmas shopping and she was still there! So of course I had to get her for you!  
You can name her whatever you want (obviously) and she’s all yours!  
Happy belated Birthday and a very Merry Christmas!

Love, Luisa! <3

_Oh wow._

On the back of the card, there was another one attached – all about her new barn owl and how to take care of her – but Clara was too excited to be able to understand any of it yet. She would have to read it again later. _And what to name it!_ **Her** , Clara reminded herself. Her owl was a her. Just like she was. And just like Luisa’s owl was! She opened the cage, but the owl didn’t move from inside of it, just stared at her with those big black eyes.

“Artemis,” Clara said, finally. “I think I’ll name you Artemis.” It was a name that she remembered from even before her time at Hogwarts, from some reading they’d been doing in one of her classes last year, and it was one that kept popping back up again in her astrology class. It was a good name. A _strong_ name. And she liked it. She knelt forward so she could look into the owl’s eyes. “Does that sound like a good name to you? Artemis? Is that your name?”

Artemis just blinked at her again. Clara closed the door to her cage and nodded. It was early in the morning. The card had said that owls were nocturnal, so that probably meant that Artemis was sleepy. She covered the cage with the velvety curtain again and placed it on top of her dresser next to the bag of candy from Susanna. She’d have to ask where to take Artemis now that she had her, since no one else kept their owl in the room.

Then Clara turned to the unmarked packages – one small and one quite a bit larger but nowhere near as large as Artemis. Her eyes narrowed, and she picked up the smaller package. It didn’t feel heavy. What could it be? And who could have sent it to her? It wasn’t as blocky or hefty as a book would be, so it couldn’t be that. Besides, it wasn’t book-shaped. She pressed her lips together and unwrapped it.

She blinked a couple of times.

It wasn’t anything big at all – just a little stuffed fox plush toy. It looked handmade and a little lopsided. It was made of plaid fabric and had blue buttons for eyes and a black nose and a big smile. It was more of a cartoon fox than a real one like the one she’d lost so long ago, but its ears were still bright red and fuzzy, as was its tail with its little white tip. The face was made of a softer cream material than the red and blue of the other plaid fabric, and there were little red spots like freckles on its cheeks. It was soft – _really_ soft – as though someone else had owned it before, only the fabric wasn’t near as worn out as she thought it would have been if it had belonged to someone else. And there was no tag – someone had made this especially for her.

Clara didn’t know what to make of it. She was twelve years old now, after all, and much too big for stuffed animals. But she liked it. She definitely knew that she liked it. Clara looked around, trying to make sure no one was watching, and as she noticed that Janet’s curtain was still closed, she gave the stuffed fox a little squeeze and then placed him on her bed right next to her pillow. Then she hid him under the blankets. Just in case.

Then there was only the bigger unmarked present left.

It was oddly shaped, and it weighed quite a bit more than the stuffed fox had, but not so much that it felt super heavy. Of course, the stuffed fox was a stuffed fox. Most things would weigh more than he had.

Clara unwrapped the package, and her head tilted to one side, brow furrowing. It was a rose made out of pure glass with what looked like a little rose bush on its back, like it was using the bush for its cape. The roses were all clear, but as she looked at them or touched the glass over them, they seemed to shift between a lot of different colors – the ones on the back shifting with the main rose remaining clear. She didn’t know what any of that meant. If they all stayed one color, maybe she would understand it, but as it was, she was at a loss. The rose and its cape of roses hovered in the air above a wooden pedestal, and they were covered with a glass casing – round and smooth with no edges in sight.

Clara placed the rose and its rose bush on her dresser, too, and then noticed a piece of paper taped to the bottom of its wooden base, felt it crinkle beneath her fingertips. She took the paper off and read it through once. It was a list of plants – like a shopping list, like for Potions – and her eyes narrowed. Maybe this wasn’t actually supposed to be part of the present. Probably it was an accident, something that had been left taped to it when whoever sent it was wrapping it. But she couldn’t be sure, so when she changed, she shoved it into her back jeans pocket so that she could go over it again later. Then she pulled a huge, faded green and black plaid flannel shirt on. It wasn’t hers and she didn’t think that it belonged with the Slytherin house accessories in the top drawer of her dresser, even though that was where she had found it initially, because no one else had anything like it _and_ it wasn’t embroidered with a Slytherin snake or crest on it like the other house sweaters were. It was a little too big, but it was warm, and it looked nice with her faded, worn out t-shirts and against her frizzy red curls – Luisa had said as much the first time she’d worn it – and she wanted to look good today, not because it was Christmas but because she had that party to go to later.

Speaking of which—

Clara looked over to Janet’s bed. She expected there would be presents waiting at the edge the way there had been presents waiting at the edge of _her_ bed when she woke up, but there was nothing there at all. Maybe Janet had taken them onto her bed with her – she had, after all, been sitting on the edge of her bed when Clara had opened her new charm. But that didn’t make sense either. There should be empty boxes or wrapping paper or something like that. But no matter how much Clara looked, there was nothing. Not even a spare strand of silver ribbon.

“Don’t you have any Christmas presents?” Clara asked, forgetting that Janet couldn’t hear her with her curtains closed. She walked over to the other girl’s bed, took a deep breath, and then pulled back her curtains. “Janet,” she started, and she could see with a quick scan that there were no presents on her bed either, just Cat, who was chasing a ribbon that looked suspiciously like one of the ones that had tied the wrapping paper on the present Clara had received from her dad, “didn’t you get anything for Christmas?”

Janet clearly hadn’t expected anyone to ever pull back the curtains on her bed, but she acted like it was something that happened all the time. Her face perhaps grew a little bit more steeled towards her, gaze never moving from the cat batting its one front paw at the silver ribbon dangling from her hand. “What would I get?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t your parents send you anything?”

“Don’t have any parents.”

Clara’s brow furrowed. “You’re lying. Everyone’s got parents. Otherwise they couldn’t be born.”

Janet shrugged. “Well, my parents didn’t want me, then, I guess.” She lowered her hand and began to trail the ribbon across the bed, watching as Cat crouched back on his hind legs, butt wiggling before he pounced on it. “Don’t matter. They didn’t send me nothing.”

“Don’t you got any friends who sent you something?”

 _That_ got a reaction from Janet, who tilted her head up just enough to raise one eyebrow in Clara’s direction. “You think I have friends?”

Clara didn’t know what to say to that. She scuffed the toes of her red sneakers on the stone floor. “You hang out with Draco sometimes.”

“Draco wouldn’t know how to be friends with a girl if she bit him in the ass.” Janet turned back to Cat, who was gnawing on the now frayed end of the silver ribbon. She dropped the ribbon next to him and brushed a hand through his fur. “Can you move?”

“Uh, yeah,” Clara said. “Sure.” She moved back to her own bed, where the candy from Hermione that she didn’t want to eat anyway still sat. She thought for a couple of minutes and then took the bag. When she turned back, Janet was pulling on her old black boots – probably used, from someone who’d outgrown them – but at least they matched her clothes. Everything she wore was black. Even her _pajamas_ were black. It was like she didn’t know how to wear anything else.

“Here.” Clara held the bag of candy out to Janet.

The other girl stared at the bag and scowled. “I don’t want pity presents.”

“It’s not a pity present!” Clara exclaimed. “Someone sent me something and I don’t want it anyway and you can have it because _I’m_ not going to eat it and then you can have something.”

Janet glared at her. “That’s a pity present. If you’re giving me something just so that I can have something without even thinking about it beforehand, that’s a pity present. I don’t want that.”

“It’s better than nothing.”

“No,” Janet said without shaking her head, just rolling her eyes once, “it’s not.” She started off out of their room, boots thunking on the ground.

Clara looked at the bag of candy she still had no intention of eating and scowled at it the way she couldn’t do directly to Janet’s face. She tossed it back on the bed and then chased after Janet. “Hey, wait!”

But Janet didn’t wait. She kept going, and the only reason Clara caught up to her at all was because she had to stop at the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory and wait for it to open up into the dungeons. “What do you want?” she asked, but her tone wasn’t angry or mean, only suspicious. Wary. There was something different in the way she looked at Clara – something uncertain.

Clara took a deep breath. She didn’t think this would go well either, considering how Janet had reacted to being offered the candy, but she _had_ to ask. She’d told Bedelia she would. “The Hufflepuffs are having a party later,” she said. It took a second before she continued, and she watched Janet’s face to try and gauge her reaction. She couldn’t read it. Janet was good at being unreadable. “I wanted to invite you to come.”

“No, you didn’t.” Janet moved through the entrance to their dormitory as soon as it opened, but Clara kept pace with her. “You’re only inviting me because you feel sorry for me.”

“No!” Clara exclaimed, just as she had before. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets. “Okay, sort of. _I_ didn’t want to invite you. Bedelia did.”

“Don’t know who that is.”

“That blonde Hufflepuff who came over to sit with me yesterday. She’s a sixth year.” Clara followed Janet into the dining hall – it was breakfast, after all – and took her arm, turning her to face the Hufflepuff table. “Her. Right there.”

Janet ripped her arm out of Clara’s hands. “ _Don’t touch me._ ”

Clara stepped back just as quickly, eyes wide and hands out, palms forward. “Don’t hex me! I was just trying to—”

“I’m not going to hex you.”

But it wasn’t as mean or as cruel as Janet normally spoke. Clara continued to follow her to the Slytherin table. “Look,” Clara said, sitting down next to Janet, “I don’t care if you come or not, but Bedelia’s been inviting everyone who’s stuck here to the party if they want to come but she was scared to invite you because I said you threatened to kill me that one time—”

“You shouldn’t start rumors.”

“Wasn’t! You _did_ threaten to kill me!”

Janet snorted. “Doesn’t sound like me.”

“Well, you _did_.” Clara crossed her arms and stared at the other girl. “Anyway, she told me to ask you for her.”

Janet rested her hand on the table, a spoon between her fingers, and refused to face Clara. “So you’re telling me that on hearing that I, a first year, threatened to kill you, a _sixth year_ got so scared that she asked _you_ , _a first year student that I’d already threatened_ , to invite me to her Christmas party?” She snorted again and lifted her bite of cereal. “Sounds like a stretch to me.”

“Maybe it is.” Clara continued to face Janet, refusing to turn away. Bedelia had to see that she was at least trying! Even if she wasn’t being completely honest, she was honestly trying! Her very best! “Don’t you want to go to a Christmas party?”

“Without friends?” Janet asked. “No.” She continued to eat her cereal without turning to Clara.

“Well, maybe you’ll make friends there.”

“Can’t really make friends if people keep talking about how I threatened to hex them or kill them, can I?”

Clara blinked a couple of times. “But you _did_ threaten to kill me. And you _did_ threaten to hex people. You did do those things.” She frowned.

“I didn’t threaten anybody.”

“You did, too!” Clara pressed her lips together and glared at the other girl. “Fine. Think whatever you want. But come to the party with me. I made cookies and everything and you can have some if you come.”

“Pity cookies like the pity candy?” Janet asked, finally facing Clara. “And a pity invite from another pitiful person stuck here over the holidays because their parents don’t want them?”

Clara’s frown deepened. “ _Look_ , I invited you because Bedelia wanted me to invite you but you don’t have to come. You can meet me in our commons later if you want, but if you’re not making friends, it’s your own fault for being so mean to someone who just wanted to invite you to a party.”

“Who didn’t want anything to do with me before today except to use me to threaten people into doing what she wanted.”

“ _Because you threatened to kill me and were mean to Neville on the train here._ ”

“Didn’t threaten anybody,” Janet mumbled again. “You’re no better than Draco.”

But by then, Clara had more than had it. She moved further down the bench so that she couldn’t hear Janet anymore. She’d done what she told Bedelia she would. She’d asked her to the stupid party. Wasn’t her fault if she didn’t want to come. She _tried_ , and that was the important thing.

Clara glanced over her shoulder to see if the pretty blonde sixth year had noticed. Bedelia glanced in her direction briefly and met her eyes before facing forward. It was only then that Clara realized that Bedelia was sitting directly across from Janet, albeit behind her, where the other girl couldn’t see her. She wondered if Bedelia had been sitting there when they sat down or if she’d moved there to watch them. Either way, it made her a little uncomfortable to think of the older student seeing her storm off again.

Well, Janet had deserved it. The girl couldn’t say one nice thing. Everything she said was so mean and cruel and—

_Clara’s parents **did** want her._

Her dad did, anyway. At least, she thought he did. He just wanted her without magic or with her magic a little bit better under her control. That was the reason she was here, after all. Not to make friends, even though she’d certainly done that.

But what hurt was that Janet’s words were probably true when it came to her mom. Clara’s mom had left without a second thought, and she’d been gone for years without sending any notice – no card, no letter, no owl, no magical _anything_ to suggest that she still cared about her. The only thing Clara had to hold onto was that, when her mother had been preparing to leave, she’d been planning to take Clara with her, too, and had only stopped when her dad showed up. But, then, why didn’t she just take her with her when she left? Why didn’t she just wait until the next day? Why was it so important that she disappear so immediately that Clara didn’t seem to matter at all?

Clara stared at her cinnamon roll. She’d picked it because she’d been thinking about her mom, but she’d forgotten how much better her mom’s baking was than that of the house elves. Suddenly, she didn’t want it at all. She pushed her plate away and took a bowl of cereal instead, but nothing looked good.

She felt horrible.

 _This_ was why she didn’t like Janet.

When she looked up, it seemed as though the other girl had already left the table. Clara couldn’t imagine where she might have gone, and she didn’t really care, so long as she didn’t have to run into her again. Maybe now would be a good time to try and find the owlery. She didn’t think Janet would go there, after all, and Artemis was probably sleeping. Best to leave her new owl where she was until later.

* * *

Clara spent the next few hours exploring the castle again but was unable to find the owlery. When her stomach began to grumble, she made her way back to the dining hall. She could hear a great ruckus as she approached, and it grew louder with each step. As she got closer, there were loud bangs and what seemed to be explosions, and rather than run away from the sound as some students might do, she ran into the dining hall.

A bunch of confetti hovered in the air, and as Clara scanned the room, it didn’t seem like anything was wrong. Bedelia wasn’t at the Hufflepuff table. Two of the other students, possibly twins, pulled apart a cracker of some sort that Clara had never seen, and it was followed by a loud, loud, _loud_ banging sound – so loud that her ears rang. She wasn’t going to be able to eat with all this noiseI. It echoed off of the hall’s large, cathedral-like walls just the same as Dumbledore’s quiet voice or Quirrell’s yell, and it grew even louder with another cracker burst. Thanks to Bedelia, she could get sandwiches out of the kitchens instead. It might still be loud, but it couldn’t be as loud there than it was here.

It was then that Clara noticed how Janet was sitting. Every time one of the crackers went off, she jumped. Her hands were so tight on the bench that her knuckles gleamed white against her otherwise bronzed skin. Clara stood there for a moment, debating, because she didn’t want to do anything at all, especially after the conversation she’d had with her earlier. Despite that, she sat down next to Janet. She took care not to grab her arm and instead leaned forward. “Do you want to go eat somewhere else?”

Janet turned to her with wide, dark eyes – tensed again as another cracker went off – and then just stared at her. It took a few minutes before Clara realized that Janet couldn’t hear what she was saying, that she had the same ringing in her ears, the same deafness, that she did. She pressed her lips together then pointed at the food, pointed at her stomach, and then pointed out of the dining hall. Janet’s eyes narrowed. Then she flinched at another cracker and nodded once. When Clara held out her hand, Janet looked at it, then back at Clara, and then finally she took it and let the redhead tug her out of the room.

“Where are you taking me?” Janet asked once they were far enough away they could hear again. She ripped her hand out of Clara’s and rubbed it against her black pants, as though Clara had cooties. Then she crossed her arms about herself and stopped still.

“Somewhere we can eat without all that noise.” Clara took a deep breath. “I know somewhere else we can eat.” She started forward again, but she couldn’t hear Janet behind her. She sighed. “Don’t you trust me?” she asked, turning back to face her again. “It’s not like _I_ threatened to—”

“Don’t start that again.” Janet glared at her. She shivered once, even though the corridor wasn’t nearly cold enough for that. “Just tell me where we’re going.”

Clara glanced a little bit farther down the corridor, to where the painting of fruit hung against the wall. She sighed again and pointed. “Over there. Bedelia showed me something yesterday. I told you we made cookies, right?” She started down the hallway again, and as she listened, she could hear the other girl’s boots clunking against the stone floor behind her.

“I need more than cookies for dinner,” Janet said, but it didn’t sound like her heart was in it. Her expression wasn’t nearly as steeled as they stopped in front of the painting; Clara could see her curiosity as she examined it. “What’s this?” she asked. “I can’t just take food out of a painting, can I?”

“No,” Clara said, and she couldn’t keep herself from laughing even the smallest bit. “Here. I’ll show you.” She tickled the great green pear the same way Bedelia had shown her only the day before, and the pear giggled for her the same way it had for the blonde. Then the painting swung open just as it had, and Clara clambered inside, careful not to bang her knee again. Then she gestured for Janet to follow her. “C’mon!”

Clara didn’t wait for her as she continued to the kitchens, where she wasn’t surprised to see Bedelia sitting on the floor with plates of food and her own goblet of – well, it wasn’t pumpkin juice, but Clara couldn’t guess at what it was. She curled up on the floor next to her. “You don’t like the crackers either?” she guessed.

“Pleasure to see you here, Clara, as always.” Then Bedelia glanced behind her. “I see you have brought someone else with you.”

“Yeah.” Clara turned to face Janet, who was standing awkwardly just inside the opening along the front wall. “She didn’t like the loud noises either.”

“I didn’t say that.” Janet moved toward their small grouping, and her eyes followed a house elf who walked over to meet them. She didn’t turn away from them, didn’t ask what they were. Maybe she already knew.

“Is there anything you would like, Miss Clara?” the house elf asked.

Clara sighed – she couldn’t think of anything to do to get them to stop calling her _miss_ before, and it still didn’t sit well with her. She didn’t like to think of herself as…as _that_. “A couple of turkey sandwiches, some green beans, and a slice of cherry pie, please. And a goblet of hot chocolate.” Then she turned to Janet and patted a spot on the ground next to her. “You _can_ sit with us, you know.”

Janet ignored Clara, instead focusing on the house elf. The elf snapped once, and Clara’s food appeared around her. Then it turned to Janet, its big eyes blinking once. “What would you like, miss?” There was no hesitation, no sense of needing a name in the house elf’s tone. It wrung its hands on its tattered, dirty, stained pillowcase of a shirt as it waited.

“What’s your name?” Janet asked, voice softer than Clara had ever heard it before.

“Figgy, miss.”

“Nice to meet you, Figgy. My name’s Janet.”

Figgy nodded. “Nice to meet you, too, Miss Janet.” Her eyes shifted from Janet over to Clara and Bedelia and then back again. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Why d’ya keep calling me _miss_?”

“Don’t ask,” Clara started to say, waving one hand in her direction. “It won’t change anything. She’ll just keep calling you—”

“Mistress Hufflepuff told us that we must pay proper respect to the wizards and witches studying at the school, just as she and the students pay proper respect to us,” Figgy said, interrupting Clara without hesitation. “We call you _miss_ so if anyone in the Ministry hears about us, they hear only good things.” Then she turned to Clara. “I’m sorry for interrupting you, Miss Clara,” she said, bowing her head so low that her great, long ears swept the ground. She covered them with her tiny hands and then shuddered once.

Before Clara could say anything, Janet knelt down so that she was on the same level as the house elf. “Don’t worry about her, Figgy. She doesn’t mind,” she said, eyes flicking away to Clara briefly. “Do you?”

Clara shook her head once. “Not at all.” She looked over to Janet. “Come sit with us. Get something to eat. Get a drink.” Her head tilted to the side as she faced Janet. “Ask for whatever you want – anything you can think of. They probably have it.”

“We’ll have it, Miss Janet.” Figgy looked back up, brushing her long ears back with her hands as she stood up a little straighter. “Whatever you want, we have it.” She seemed a little bit happier than before.

Janet nodded once, considering. “I’d like a bacon chili cheeseburger, then, please,” she said, voice still just as soft as it was before, “and chili cheese fries and—”

“A side of chili?” Clara interrupted, brows raising, unable to keep herself from grinning.

“—and some fried green tomatoes, please.” Janet stopped and took a deep breath. She didn’t smile – Clara wasn’t exactly sure she knew _how_ to smile, even though she’d seen something like it before. Instead, she stayed solely focused on the house elf in front of her. “That isn’t too much, is it?”

“Not at all, Miss Janet.” Figgy nodded once to herself, but before she snapped, she asked, “Would you like a drink?”

Janet’s eyes widened, and it was then that she finally smiled – or as close to it as Clara thought she could get. It looked like she was baring her teeth and upset, not like she was happy about anything. “Can I have a Coke? And a coffee? And some milk and sugar?”

“Of course, Miss Janet.” Figgy snapped her fingers, and the platters that Janet had asked for appeared on the floor just next to Bedelia and Clara. A large glass full of Coke appeared next to a pitcher full of the same, and a smaller mug of coffee appeared next to it, with a pot of cubed sugar and a quarter-gallon of milk next to it. “Is that all?”

“That’s more than enough,” Janet said. “Thank you, Figgy.”

“Yes, Miss Janet.” Then Figgy turned and walked back to the five tables, which the other house elves had been placing plates and goblets onto – and, sometimes, taking the used ones off of and passing them over to other house elves, who were washing them as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

Janet moved over to Bedelia and Clara, and she curled up cross-legged next to them. The room overhead boomed as another cracker was broken, but it was a muffled, quiet sound – like cannons in the distance or thunder over the nearby mountains instead of as immediate and ear-splitting as it had been in the dining hall itself. She glanced over to Clara briefly. “It’s nicer here. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Clara was surprised at how _nice_ Janet was being all of a sudden. Not only telling her thanks for helping her, but in particular how she’d treated the house elf. She’d never seen Janet treat _anyone_ nicely – at least, not any human, anyway. The only other creature who might be treated similar to that was Cat the cat. Maybe Janet _could_ be nice. Maybe she’d just spent the past few months being wrong.

But then Janet turned to Bedelia and asked, “And you’re the one who wanted to invite me to your Christmas party but were too scared to do it yourself?”

All of a sudden, as Bedelia’s soft blue eyes widened and her gaze lifted from Janet and landed on Clara, the redhead could feel her mind changing. No, no, Janet was still mean and cruel. She’d just gotten better at hiding it. Bedelia must think _she_ was all nice now and _Clara_ was the mean liar.

However, Bedelia didn’t blow Clara’s cover. “I am not very good at speaking with people I do not already know in some form or fashion,” she said, voice so quiet it was almost silent. “I knew Clara through a mutual friend, so I was not afraid to speak with her. I had hoped that she would have a better time convincing you than I would.” She placed her fork down on her plate and smiled so pleasantly that Clara thought maybe, just maybe, she would get off free on this. “Was I correct?”

Janet shrugged and took a great gulp of soda from the pitcher instead of from the glass. “No. Clara and I don’t get along well. I’m sure she told you something about how I threatened to kill her at the beginning of the year.”

“She did say something to that effect, yes.”

“That wasn’t quite true.” Janet’s gaze shifted over to Clara, as though threatening her to say anything against her. She didn’t smile as someone else might have done as they spun their half-truths, but the glance over was enough of one to send a sharp stab of anger into Clara’s heart. “I simply _warned her_ that if she did anything to my cat there would be _dire_ consequences.”

Bedelia nodded once. “As would I, if I had a pet.” She glanced over to Clara. “As I’m sure _you_ might, if you had a pet.”

Clara suddenly thought of Artemis, possibly still sleeping on her dresser, and she realized that, even though she hadn’t had her owl even one day yet, she probably _would_ kill anyone who tried to hurt her (but not herself, as that sort of reaction seemed a little extreme). All of a sudden, Janet's threat didn’t seem so dangerous as it had been before. She still wasn’t particularly happy about it, but putting it in context helped. And speaking of pets—

“Luisa sent me an owl for Christmas,” Clara said, not so subtly changing the subject but also not intentionally trying to change it, “and I figured there was probably a better place for her to stay than on my dresser. Is there an owlery or something where I can take her?” She brushed some of her frizzy red hair out of her face. “I don’t want to get in trouble with the headmaster for keeping her somewhere she’s not supposed to be, and I want her to be happy with the other owls.”

Bedelia nodded again. “If you will remind me after the party, I can show you the proper place to take her. It is not far from Ravenclaw tower, although I do not think that you know where that is. Am I correct?”

“I think I know where it is,” Janet said, lips twisting into something that on someone else might have been a smile but on her looked much more menacing, “and I think I know where the owlery is, too. Cat goes up there sometimes to watch the owls. He doesn’t hurt them, of course,” she said, trying to cover her tracks before Bedelia could give any sign that this was a bad idea, “but he enjoys watching them.”

“Then perhaps it would be better for you to show Clara where it is. You can lead her there before the party, and then the two of you may stay as long as you like, without fear of needing to do anything else.” Bedelia took one last bit of her food, pressed a napkin to her lips, and then nodded towards Clara. “You _will_ lead Janet to the Hufflepuff common room when it is time, won’t you, Clara?”

“Of course I will!” Clara’s hands clenched into little fists. She would much rather have had Bedelia show her where the owlery was; she wasn’t sure she believed that Janet knew where it was at all, and she still didn’t want to spend that much time alone with her, especially after she’d been using _being nice_ as a weapon. If she’d been standing, she might have stamped her foot once for emphasis. As it was, there was no need.

Bedelia smiled, but it didn’t hold some of the same mirth that it had while she and Clara were cooking the day before. “I will be back here to gather our cookies before the party starts, so you will not need to worry about that.” She stood and brushed along her robes and skirt, even though there wasn’t anything there, not even crumbs. “I hope I will see the two of you later.” Then she nodded towards Janet. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Janet said, mimicking Bedelia’s tone and watching as the blonde student left them behind. Then she turned to Clara. “Well, she seems nice.”

“She _is_ nice,” Clara corrected, unable to keep from snapping, “and you _did_ threaten me! It wasn’t a warning at all!” But her words didn’t hold the same frustration as they normally did. It felt like she was repeating the words just to repeat them, more like a joke than out of any anger at all. She took a bite of her sandwich. “Do you really know where the owlery is?”

Janet nodded. “I found it on my third day here. The owls are mostly asleep when I go visit them, but they’re a lot nicer than most of you are.”

“Nicer?”

“Yeah.” Janet picked at her chili cheese fries, despite getting chili all over her fingers. She didn’t explain further, which didn’t sit well with Clara, but it wasn’t like she could make her keep talking about it. After a few minutes of eating, Janet raised her mug towards Clara. “Thanks for showing me this place,” she said. “It’s another nice hiding spot.”

Clara stared at her blankly. “Hiding spot?” she asked. “Who are you hiding from?”

“No one.” Janet said it like it was nothing; she wasn’t quick, like someone who was trying to hide something would be, and she wasn’t sullen or firm about it, either, as though she didn’t want Clara to ask further about it. All the same, it still felt like she wouldn’t say more about it anyway, even if Clara asked. “It’s just nice to have another place to go.”

“I guess.” Clara looked down at her empty plate. “I’m sorry you didn’t get any presents.”

Janet shrugged. “I’m not. I’m used to it by now.” Then she licked her fingers clean, took a last gulp of her coffee, and then stood, wiping her hands on her robes. “We can take your owl to the owlery now, if you want,” she said, looking around the kitchen again. “Do we need to clean this up?”

Clara shook her head. “No. The house elves will do that for us.”

“Right.” Janet paused and then walked off directly to one of the house elves. She touched its shoulder, and when it turned, Clara could see that it was Figgy. She wondered why she hadn’t been able to notice that herself, but the truth was that a lot of the house elves looked the same to her. She had trouble distinguishing them at all. If asked, she wouldn’t be able to tell you if the house elf who had helped her and Bedelia the day before was also Figgy or if it was another elf entirely, and she definitely wouldn’t have been able to point them out of the group.

Clara watched as Janet bent down and said something to Figgy, who only nodded with a bright smile. Then Janet turned to the others and talked briefly with each of them as well before returning to Clara, who waited at the entrance to the kitchens. As they started back down the entrance to the painting of fruit, Clara couldn’t help but ask, “What did you say to them?”

“I thanked them,” Janet said, but the emphasis was more on how ignorant Clara was for not doing the same thing. “It’s the holidays. Everyone should know that they’re appreciated.” Then she gave a look that was dangerous and mischievous all at once. “I also ordered them to take a break and eat whatever they wanted.”

“I don’t think they can do that,” Clara said as she walked through the painting and it shut behind them.

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

Clara wasn’t sure she agreed with her at all, but she didn’t feel like arguing with her right now. They went back to the Slytherin dormitories, making the shift from the warm basement near the kitchen under the dining hall to the cold, damp dungeons where their house lay. She shivered once, even though she wasn’t cold, and when they returned to their room, she saw Cat the cat batting his one paw against Artemis’s cage. At first, Clara was furious, but as she ran closer, she realized that Artemis didn’t seem to care at all, and if she _did_ care, _she_ was definitely playing with _him_ , draping the edge of her wing just in front of his paw and then moving it back with a clicking of her beak in what Clara imagined was laughter as he tried to hit it and just barely missed.

“See?” Janet said. “He doesn’t hurt them.”

Clara didn’t say anything as she took Artemis’s cage in her arms, carefully holding it so that she wouldn’t drop her. Artemis and her cage were heavier than Clara remembered, but maybe that was because she was more tired than she had been before – or because she was carrying her for far longer than only lifting her to the top of her dresser.

“That’s pretty.” Janet nodded toward the rose and its cape of a rose bush. “Who sent you that?”

“Don’t know.” Clara would have shrugged if she wasn’t carrying Artemis, but she figured that wouldn’t be nice for her owl. “Alright,” she said with a grunt, “show me where the owlery is.”

* * *

Clara’s arms were sore by the time they made it to what must have been the farthest, tallest tower in the castle. (It wasn’t either of those things. Clara knew it wasn’t. And yet, no matter how much she knew that, it still _felt_ like it was. Probably because she was carrying a huge bird in an equally huge cage in her tiny little arms and no matter how much Janet indicated that she would be willing to help, Clara refused.)

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Janet stopped in front of a door with a bronze knocker and then moved toward it.

“Why are we stopping here?” Clara asked. “Is this the owlery?”

Janet shook her head as she began to trace the knocker. “No. It’s the Ravenclaw dormitory. See this?”

Clara didn’t move closer, but she could make out that it was shaped kind of like an eagle. “What about it?”

“It asks questions. If you get them right, it lets you in.” Janet looked back at Clara. “You wanna try?”

“No.” Clara’s teeth gritted together. “I want to take Artemis to the owlery so that she has somewhere good to stay and I don’t have to keep carrying her anymore. She’s _heavy_.”

“Told you I could help with—”

“ _No, I’ve got her._ ”

Janet laughed once, a deep and abrasive sound, and stepped a little too close to Clara, staring at her face. “You’re gonna pop a muscle if you keep getting angry like this.” She kept her hands shoved into the pockets of her little black woolen robes – _where she got robes with pockets was a wonder to Clara_ , but she didn’t ask – and then stepped back. “Better to be angry and not let people know.” She started walking again, turning toward yet another stairway.

Clara groaned. The owlery was so _far_. She hadn’t explored this far before – or she _had_ but not in this direction – and she hoped she would remember how to get here later so she could visit her owl. “Are we _almost_ there?”

“Just up these stairs.”

All of a sudden, Clara felt a surge of energy. Just up these stairs! She zoomed past Janet, much to the dismay of the owl still in her arms. Artemis clacked her beak together in displeasure, ruffled her feathers, and forced Clara to slow down. She tried to keep going quickly, though, just slow enough that it didn’t disturb Artemis. And there, at the top of the stairs, was one final door. Clara carefully held Artemis and her cage to one side and pushed the door open.

Inside were a bunch of owls. Some were asleep, some blinked great big eyes to her of many different colors (mostly black), and some were missing – probably flying off through the great windows that led outside. Clara shivered – it was cold in here like it was cold in the dungeons, although it wasn’t as damp and dark – and she set Artemis’s cage down on the stone floor before opening it. Janet arrived behind her just in time for Artemis to leave her cage, stretching her great golden brown wings and making her way out of one of the many large windows. Clara stood there just long enough to watch Artemis fly off into the darkening sky and then turned to Janet, who stood just behind her.

“Do you think she’s happy out there?” Clara asked, head tilting ever so slightly to one side as she picked up the golden cage again. She didn’t think she was supposed to leave it behind.

“I think it’s better than being in a cage,” Janet said, voice just as blunt as it always was. “Anything is better than being in a cage.”

Clara thought about it for a second and then nodded. She passed the empty cage between her hands, glad to find that with Artemis gone it wasn’t nearly as heavy as it was before. “I should take this back,” she said finally, shuffling her feet, “and then we can go to the party.”

“Ok.”

Clara hefted the cage and then started through the door, which Janet shut behind them. “You’re sure you don’t want any of the candy?” she asked, voice soft. “I’ve got more than I’m going to eat and—”

“I don’t want a pity present.”

“—for showing me how to get to the owlery, then,” Clara continued, as though Janet hadn’t interrupted her at all. “I was planning on showing you to the party anyway, so. You could have some of the candy as a reward. For being nice and all.”

“I would have shown you anyway, if you had asked.” Janet continued down the stairs just in front of her, braid swinging against her back. “You don’t have to give me something just for being nice.”

“Can’t I give you something just because I want to give you something?”

Janet paused in front of her, and Clara accidentally bumped into her. She stepped back and rubbed at the tip of her nose where she’d run into the other girl. “What’d you stop for?”

“Nothing.” Janet started forward again. After a few moments of walking in silence, she took a deep breath. “I have something I want to take care of. I’ll meet you. In a few minutes.” Then without waiting for a response, she took a sudden swerve down another corridor and stalked off.

 _That was weird_ , Clara thought as she returned to their room. She hid Artemis’s cage under her bed and, very gently, moved the bag of candy Hermione had sent her to Janet’s dresser. It was something, after all. Then she checked her outfit in the mirror – debated wearing her Slytherin robes and decided against it, considering how most people looked at her house – and moved her necklace out from under her t-shirt where it had been hiding, so that the wooden figures – the one of her with the wand and the new one on the broom – rested just under her collar. And it was nice to wear jeans without having to worry about how uncomfortable the robes would feel when she stuck her hands in her pockets.

Then she went downstairs, pulling at the sleeves of her flannel shirt, and slumped into one of the huge chairs to wait for Janet to show up. Clara threw her legs over one of the chair’s arms while she leaned back against the other and then swung them, the heels of her worn out red high tops bouncing against the worn out leather. She leaned her head back a little too far and then curled up so that it rested against the back of the chair.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Clara felt a hand on her shoulder – gentle, hesitant – and she startled awake all at once. Janet jumped away from her and shoved her hand into a little fist at her side. She looked down. “I just…wanted to let you know I was back and we can go. If you’re ready. If you still want to go.”

“I still want to go.” Clara propped herself up and swung herself over the arm of the chair, landing on her sneakers, and stood with a grin. “I’m ready.” She rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes and yawned. “Let’s go.”

They walked out of the commons together, from the dungeons, and towards the Hufflepuff dormitory. Janet paused by the painting of the fruit bowl. “So I just tickle the pear and it opens?”

Clara nodded. “Yeah. But we should keep going – Bedelia said she’d get the cookies and everything and—”

“You baked?”

Despite the fact that she’d said so earlier, it sounded like Janet hadn’t believed her. Clara blushed and shoved her hands into her pockets, shuffling her feet. “My mom was a baker. I know some things.” Then she tilted her head away. “We should get going. It’s a party, you know. We could make some new friends.”

“ _You_ could make some new friends,” Janet corrected as she continued to follow Clara.

“You could make friends, too.”

“Doubt it.” Janet shrugged. “Besides, I don’t need any friends. I’ve got Cat. That’s enough.”

“Suit yourself.” Clara stopped in front of the barrels that Bedelia had indicated the day before and looked around. “Bedelia didn’t tell me how to get inside – she said someone would be watching out for us, but maybe I napped too long or you were gone too long or—” She stopped and turned to Janet, her brow furrowing. “Where _did_ you go, by the way?”

Janet shrugged again. “Nowhere.”

“You went _somewhere_. Why won’t you tell me?”

But before Clara could pester Janet further, a huge section of the wall began to shift, the stones moving the way the ones did at the entrance to Diagon Alley, and it opened to reveal two girls in Hufflepuff colors standing just inside, one with blonde hair and the other with brown hair the color of her skin. Their eyes shifted from Clara with her frizzy red hair, skinny black jeans with rips at the knees, and plaid green and black flannel – Slytherin colors – to Janet, dressed all in black with her hair pulled back into a tight braid.

“You’re here for the party?” the blonde girl asked, and when Clara nodded, she turned to the darker girl, uncertain.

The other girl, who was lankier and taller, so probably was older and had more authority over who could come inside and who couldn’t, just grinned before gesturing inside with one hand. “C’mon in. We’ve got plenty of food and everything. Just make yourselves comfortable.”

Clara nodded once but noticed as she started forward that Janet hadn’t moved at all but was instead staring at the blonde girl. She didn’t know why – maybe it was something about street cred or keeping up appearances – so she took Janet’s hand in her own, ignoring the slight tingling sensation as her friend’s eyes widened, and tugged her forward. “C’mon. They said there’s food! And I’m _starving_.”

Janet stumbled a little bit as Clara tugged her forward but kept up well enough. Her hand felt cold in Clara’s, and Clara gave it a little squeeze, though she didn’t know why she did. They passed between the two girls and into a common area that was significantly more homey and warm and inviting than their own. It was a soft, buttermilk yellow with wooden shelves and settings in the stone, and on many of the shelves, there were plants still warm and green despite the frigid weather outside. There was a fire blazing comfortably in one corner of the room, and a handful of the students left over the holidays sat in front of it with marshmallows and bars of chocolate, making s’mores as they sat chatting on big, comfy looking pillows. There was a table in the back covered with food – fruit, some vegetables (but not many), sandwiches and pumpkin juice and apple cider and hot chocolate, and a huge variety of different kinds of desserts – cookies, of course, but also brownies and even a couple of pies.

Clara dragged Janet over to the table, not even realizing that they were still holding hands, and pointed towards the cookies she recognized. “These are mine!” she said with a smile. She hadn’t tasted any of them yet, and she took one off the platter. “I hope they’re good. I was trying to make them from memory, and—” She took a bite.

Well.

She winced.

“Maybe baking from memory is a _bad_ idea.”

But Janet had already taken one of her own, looked it over, and taken a bite. Her eyes widened, and she nodded once before swallowing. Then she said, “They’re not _that_ bad.”

“They’re horrible,” Clara replied. “You can tell me that they’re horrible.”

Janet shook her head. “They’re not.” She took another bite, her face stony. “Maybe should’ve used more sugar and less salt.”

Clara scowled. “You’re making fun of me!”

“Maybe a little bit.” But Janet took another bite anyway, finishing off the cookie. “But they’re better than some others I’ve had. I know a lot of kids who would love these. Would love knowing how to make them.” She took another couple. “They’ve got plates here, yeah?”

“Just over there,” Bedelia said from behind them, causing both of the girls to jump. “I am glad that both of you were able to make it. I had hoped you would be here to enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Clara said, blushing. “No problem at all.” Then she winced again. “Don’t eat any of my cookies. They’re _bad_. Really bad. I should just—” She started to take the whole plate.

Bedelia stopped her. “You should not worry. Plenty of others have already eaten them and enjoyed them, myself among them. I think you are holding yourself to too high of a standard.”

Janet returned with two plates in her hands and handed one to Clara. “Quit talking about how bad your cookies are and come get some other stuff. If people don’t like them, the house elves will eat them.” She looked over to Bedelia. “I’m sure they’d like the homemade presents.”

“No.” Bedelia’s gaze shifted away. “They would like it much better if we did not try to cook in the kitchens at all. They consider it to be their domain. Witches and wizards should not be infringing on their jobs.” Then she smiled. “I know of others who might enjoy it, though. Let me take care of any that are left over.”

“See?” Janet nudged Clara with one elbow. “She’s got it taken care of. Now come eat.”

Clara looked over to Bedelia, who gave her a comforting smile and a shooing gesture, and sighed. “Yeah, okay.” She took one of the plates Janet offered her and followed her to the other end of the table, which was laden with platters of fruits and vegetables, with more of the sandwiches she had seen earlier when they walked in, but also with pies and pot pies and soft, warm breads that were still nowhere near as good as the ones her mom used to make, no matter how good they smelled. By the time she made it back to the cookies, she’d more than run out of room on her plate – or should have, but someone must have magicked them to hold as much as she wanted without needing to put anything on top of the other. Or maybe _all_ of the plates from the kitchens were like that and she’d just never had an occasion to test their limits before.

Clara and Janet moved over to the fireplace, where they sat and ate mostly in silence. Clara’s eyes moved from Janet to the other students, who weren’t so much ignoring them as they had their own little groupings of friends, and she noticed that, despite Hermione’s mention that her other friends were staying at Hogwarts over the holidays (and despite the fact that Clara had very much seen them sitting at the Gryffindor table together), neither of them seemed particularly interested in joining the festivities in the Hufflepuff common room. She did, however, see one of the other Weasleys – she guessed it must be one of them by the red of his curly hair (tighter wound and much less frizzy and wild than her own) and the smattering of freckles on his neck and ears (but somehow not on his face at all). He wore a prefect badge similar to the one Alana wore, but with Gryffindor’s colors instead of Slytherin’s, and seemed to be talking with the dark-skinned Hufflepuff who had let them into their commons.

Clara found it hard to believe that the two boys didn’t know about the party, and she felt instantly annoyed with them for not having come. It was just another instance of believing they were better than everyone else, another point against them and their apparent need to separate themselves from everyone else. She couldn’t help but think, again, that Draco was right – there was something wrong with that Potter kid – even though he’d only ever been humble and nice to her.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Janet said suddenly, not looking up from her plate of food. She stared at it, still silent, hands clasped together. “I know Bedelia forced you into it—”

“ _She didn’t—_ ”

“—but it was still nice of you to do it anyway.” Janet’s lips pressed together, and she looked up, around at everyone else, back to the tables of food, and then back down. “I’ve never been to anything like this before.” Her fingers tapped along her robe. “It’s nice.”

“Glad you’re having fun.” Clara wasn’t sure that _she_ was having much fun, but it certainly beat sitting in her bed and staring at the ceiling the way she had last Christmas. Elena had sent her to bed early after dinner, which hadn’t been much of anything at all, and the only present she’d had had been—

No. She hadn’t had any presents at all last Christmas. In fact, if not for it being the holidays, she wasn’t sure she would have noticed it was Christmas at all.

“Janet?” Clara asked, and she waited until the other girl looked up at her, watching patiently. “What’ve your Christmases been like?”

The other girl shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. This is what they’ll be like now.”

Clara hesitated and then gently reached over and placed her hand on one of Janet’s. It flinched beneath her touch. “You might not have presents, but, if you want, I’ll be your friend.” She wasn’t sure how true that was or how hard it might be, but it couldn’t hurt to have Janet on her side instead of _not_ on her side. Besides, spending Christmas with her hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought it would be. Confusing, maybe, and infuriating, definitely, but not _bad_ like she’d imagined. Janet could be mean and cruel, but she wasn’t always. She could actually be kind of nice. Surprisingly enough.

But Janet didn’t even look up. Her hand moved away from Clara’s and instead shifted the plate in her hands. “Prove it.” Then she stood up with her plate and left Clara where she was.

It took a while before Clara realized that Janet wasn’t coming back. She’d thought the other girl was just going to get more food, but as she looked around the room, she noticed that Janet wasn’t there at all. It was only then that she got up and searched out Bedelia, disposing of her plate as she did so. Once she found her, she asked, “Did you see where Janet went? I thought she was going to come back and sit with me.”

Bedelia shook her head. “Janet came and thanked me for the invite then said she was not feeling well and left.”

Clara frowned. Was it something she had said? No. Maybe Janet really _wasn’t_ feeling good. That would explain why she’d disappeared at the owlery, too. She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “I’d better go, too, then.” She faked a yawn and covered her mouth with the back of one hand (not because she normally did but because Bedelia seemed like the sort of person who would want her to be polite). “I’m really tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” Bedelia nodded. “Go and get some rest. I hope that you have enjoyed yourself.”

“Yeah!” Clara said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “I’ve had a great time.” Then she gave Bedelia another smile and left.

Clara made her way back to the Slytherin dormitories, and when she returned to her bed, she found that the bag of candy she’d left on Janet’s dresser had disappeared. But it hadn’t been returned to her dresser or her bed, either. The rose and its cape of roses still sat on her dresser, and they gave off a faded golden and blue glow. She stared at them for a few minutes and then got into bed, where she found Cat the cat waiting for her. As soon as she curled up, he curled up next to her, chest vibrating with a soft, slow purr.

“At least _you_ seem to like me,” Clara said, and she pulled the fox plush out from under her covers and stared at him. She’d had one like this when she was very young, only less plaid and more red, but she had no idea who would have sent her one now. She curled up with the fox and gave Cat the cat a final good pet, and then fell asleep. It had been a long and far too eventful day.


	13. Luisa's Mom

The rest of Christmas break passed without much event. Clara was determined to at least try and be friends with Janet, but the other girl seemed to be completely avoiding her. Janet was often awake much earlier than Clara was and gone from their dormitories for far longer than she was, and when she _was_ there, her bed curtains were drawn so that she couldn’t hear anything Clara said. The only indication that Clara had done something right was that the bag of candy hadn’t been returned again. Janet must have finally accepted it.

Every so often, Clara would pull out the list of plants and flowers that had come with the glass rose and its cape of roses and read through it again. She asked Bedelia about a handful of them, but Bedelia didn’t know any potions that would require those ingredients. Once, she even spoke the words aloud to the rose and its roses, thinking it might be a spell, but although the rose sparkled and twinkled in its box, she couldn’t see any real change.

Soon, the students who had been gone returned, and what little truce seemed to have existed between Janet, Clara, and Cat the cat seemed to grow tense. Janet continued to avoid Clara as much as she could, often finding a way to get the other Slytherin first years to distract her, and Clara no longer found Cat the cat curled up on the foot of her bed.

But by then, Clara didn’t care. There was something else she was much more excited about.

Luisa was back!

As soon as Clara saw the second year Hufflepuff her first morning back, she couldn’t help but grin. Luisa’s hair was different – or maybe that was because it was in two plaits, one on either side – and she seemed tired, too – but maybe that was because it was early morning and she’d spent all that time with family. Either way, Clara sat down at the Slytherin table right next to Luisa and nudged her with her elbow.

“Luisa! That was the best present I’ve ever seen!”

Clara watched for Luisa’s bright, excited grin, but the other girl’s smile was less… _less_. Luisa turned with as happy a smile as she could muster, but it wasn’t enough. “I’m glad you liked her! I was thinking I’d get her for you for your birthday, but I didn’t know about it until too late, and then I thought _Christmas_!”

“You’re absolutely the best!” Clara reached across to give Luisa a big hug. Some of the other Slytherins next to her grumbled about how nice she was being with someone from another house, but she didn’t care. Luisa bought her an owl. _An owl!_ “Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” she said as she let her go. “I didn’t even think about getting anyone presents. If I’d known you were getting me something, I’d’ve gotten you something, too.”

Luisa’s eyes glistened when they parted, but she tried to smile all the same. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said. “It’s great enough knowing that you would have.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes, but before Clara could ask what was wrong, she continued, “What was it like here? Did you get other presents? Tell me everything.” Her eyes widened, like they normally did when she wanted to hear more, but there was still something off.

Clara didn’t know what was bothering her, but something obviously was. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Janet knocked into her elbow and sat down next to her. This, at least, was relatively good, but it meant that Clara couldn’t talk about her break – it wouldn’t feel right talking about all of her presents with Janet, who hadn’t gotten any, sitting right next to her, especially after Janet had been there when she opened all of them. It wouldn’t feel right to update Luisa on the situation with Janet either, or ask for her help or what she should do to convince the other girl that she _did_ want to be friends now – not with the girl in question sitting right there. So, instead, she reached over, patted Luisa’s shoulder, and whispered, “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Luisa’s face – already not quite as cheery and bright as it normally was – fell, but only for a moment before she was back to the not-quite-like-herself that it had been. “Okay,” she said, but her voice sounded like it was anything other than okay. “Just don’t forget about me while you spend time with your new friend.”

Clara blinked as Luisa turned away, surprised by what she’d said. That didn’t sound like her at all. What was bothering her? But she couldn’t ask about that now. Instead, Clara turned away from the Hufflepuff table to face Janet, who wasn’t really paying attention to her but, for once, didn’t seem to be avoiding her either way. “Hey,” she said. “Did you have a good rest of your break?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Janet lifted her goblet of hot cocoa and took a deep drink of it. She didn’t even turn to face Clara. Instead, she let out a deeply held breath. “I wanted to ask if you would be my partner in class today. Not because I think you’re really friends with me or anything,” she said before Clara could get a word in edgewise, “but because I’m sick of partnering with Draco or one of his goons. He always makes me do all the work, and when I’m with one of the others, I _still_ have to do everything. I’m not going to let my grades take a hit just because they’re idiots.” It was then that she finally turned to face Clara. “You think you can do that for me?”

Clara blinked a couple of times. “Sure. I can do that.”

“You don’t sound like you can.”

“Of course, I can do it!” Clara exclaimed, swallowing down her shock and surprise that Janet had even asked in the first place. “I’m better than all of them. A better flyer, too, if you need help with that. Draco thinks he’s so good at everything, but he just talks big. He’s no better than the rest of us. In fact, he’s just like that Potter kid.”

It was the first time Clara heard herself say it, and she felt like Draco as she did. Potter hadn’t done anything to her personally. She had no real reason to dislike him, other than jealousy. And yet, circumstances kept growing against him. Her lips pressed together, and she shook her head, cheeks burning with shame.

“I can be your partner,” Clara said again, trying to move on from what she’d just said. “Just don’t you get me into any trouble. I’ve been real good in my classes, other than Potions, and that’s because Hermione quit sitting with me. Potions are hard.”

“Well,” Janet said, “if you help me out with some of my classes, maybe I can help you out with Potions. I’ve been doing okay with them.” She looked down at her bowl of cereal. “Besides, I don’t get people into trouble in class.”

This, at least, was true. Clara knew it. Janet was so quiet during class that professors rarely took points off from her – it was probably part of why Slytherin was doing so well in the competition for the House Cup – and when they did call on her, often her answers were correct or close enough to it that only minor changes had to be made. But Janet mostly hid in the shadows behind more vocal students – like Draco – or students who might have been considered more brilliant – like Hermione or Susanna.

Clara pressed her lips together and nodded again. “Okay,” she said. “Do you want to walk to class together? I don’t remember what the last thing we were learning was.” This wasn’t true; although Clara wasn’t the sort of girl to study her books over break (and she absolutely hadn’t, instead spending her spare time exploring the castle for new hidden passageways – she hadn’t found any – or in the owlery with Artemis), she had a good mind when she applied it. She knew exactly what they’d been learning right before break, even if she hadn’t done too well on the quizzes just before it.

“Sure.”

The girls walked together from the dining hall to class, and Clara turned away from Janet to look at Luisa as they did, still worried about her friend.

* * *

As the week passed, Janet warmed up a little bit towards Clara, but only during classes when they were partnered together. Outside of that, she was still just as standoffish as before, if not more so. Clara had a hard time finding her to talk with her about their homework, and during study hall, Janet seemed to want to sit by herself and completely ignored Clara whenever she tried to ask her a question. Sometimes, it seemed like Janet knew those hidden places that Clara had been trying to find over break; she had a horrible habit of disappearing whenever Clara most wanted her.

Even more infuriating was that Luisa also seemed to be closed off any time Clara tried to talk with her. Other than that first morning she’d been back, Clara hadn’t seen Luisa smile at all, not even when she was talking with her fellow Hufflepuffs, and that worried her. What could have happened to have changed her so much? She tried to show Luisa how well she and Artemis were getting along one morning when the owl swooped down into the dining hall for a bit of her toast, but no matter how much she nudged her, Luisa seemed to not notice at all.

Finally, that weekend, unsure of what else to do, Clara made her way back down to the kitchens. It was Luisa, after all, who had told her that the first thing you needed when you were trying to help a friend was comfort food. Maybe if she fiddled with her cookie recipe – add a little more sugar? or cinnamon? – she would be able to make them taste better. She didn’t want them to be like the ones she’d had at the Christmas party; she wanted them to taste the way they had when her mom made them.

Clara expected to find Bedelia in the kitchens when she arrived, but there was no one there other than the house elves, who were already hard at work cleaning and cooking. One of them – the one who had introduced herself to Janet as Figgy – walked over to her when she arrived, blinked her big eyes a couple of times, and then bowed. “Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Clara?”

“I was planning to bake some cookies again.” Clara started to ask for ingredients, which were quickly made available to her, and then, thinking about how Janet had treated Figgy the last time they were in the kitchens together, she asked, “Would you like to cook with me?”

Figgy’s already large hazel eyes grew even larger, and she pulled down on her floppy pointed ears. Then she shook her head. “If Miss Clara wanted my cookies, she would not be making them herself.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Clara said, head tilting to one side. “I asked if you wanted to cook with me. We might make something better together if—”

But as Clara spoke, Figgy began to shake in her stained tea cozy. The elf pulled harder on her right ear, bending her head so that she could step on the edge of it with one tiny, bare foot.

Clara’s brows furrowed as she watched the house elf’s reaction. “What’s wrong? Don’t step on your ear like that!” She reached forward, took the elf’s hand from her ear, and pulled her ear out from beneath her foot. “Don’t you know you’ll hurt yourself?”

“Yes, Miss Clara. Sorry, Miss Clara.” Figgy wrung her tea cozy between her little fists and nodded a few times. She took a deep breath and then asked, “Do you want me to help you cook?”

“Yeah, of course, I do,” Clara said, staring at the house elf in front of her. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to help.”

The house elf nodded once. “So if Miss Clara asks me if I want to do something, then that means she wants me to do that thing.” She glanced to the other house elves, who Clara only just noticed were listening in on their conversation.

Clara glanced to the other house elves, confused. “Well, yeah. If you want to help, I want you to be able to help. If I didn’t want your help, I wouldn’t ask for it.” She watched to see if any of the others’ expressions changed, but none of them did. Wasn’t Figgy just saying what she’d already said? “So do you wanna help me make some cookies or not?”

“Of course, Miss Clara.” Figgy gave the other house elves a little nod, and they stopped watching their conversation and went back to what they were doing. She walked over to one of the ovens and a little countertop next to it, which was empty other than the ingredients Clara requested. “What do you want me to do?”

Clara’s eyes lit up – surely Luisa and Bedelia would be proud of her, making friends with the house elves – and certainly it would be good to be friends with them if she planned to bake more often. She gave Figgy a huge grin. “Here, let me show you!”

Clara cooked with Figgy for a little while, mixing and testing and remixing the cookie dough until she was certain they had gotten it right. She talked with the house elf about how she was measuring the ingredients and checked in with her on how the house elves made their cookies – there was a lot more magic involved, but Figgy seemed to know a lot about baking outside of that, almost as though she’d had to cook by hand, too, without any use of magic – and within the span of a couple of hours, the cookies were done. Clara grinned as she thanked Figgy, and the little house elf gave her an equally little nod, wrung her hands in her tea cozy again, and then wished Miss Clara luck with whatever she was planning to do with her cookies. She also told her she could leave the plate anywhere around the castle, and once it was empty, she would just get it herself.

Then Clara set off from the kitchens and headed towards the Hufflepuff dormitories, where she was certain she would find Luisa if she could just get inside. She made it to the barrels and looked at them, wondering how she could open the door, but after what felt like way too long looking and not being able to try and push or pull anything with her hands (since she was carrying such a big platter of cookies), the door opened. To her surprise, Luisa stood just inside the entryway, hands tucked in her winter robes and holding them tightly around her, even though it felt surprisingly warm.

“Luisa!” Clara exclaimed. “I was looking for you!” She held out the platter of cookies, which were still warm. “I made some cookies, and I thought, since we weren’t able to finish talking about break, it’d be nice to hang out. Janet showed me where the owlery was over break. We could go there and talk, and you could see Artemis!” She noticed Luisa hesitating and held out the platter a little closer to the other girl. “C’mon. I worked really hard on these with Figgy, and they’re really good.” She blushed. “I think. I haven’t really had one yet because they just got done and cooled off enough for me to carry them here but I thought—”

Luisa paused with one hand over the plate. “Who’s Figgy?”

“One of the house elves,” Clara said. “Bedelia showed me the kitchens because I mentioned how my mom used to bake and I—”

“Oh.” Luisa took one of the cookies and held it in her bare hand without eating it. “I was…I was thinking about going to the library to study, but I can…I can go to the owlery with you instead.” She tried to smile, but it seemed just as hollow as the other ones she’d had since break. Then she took a deep breath. “I’d love to see Artemis again, too. She was such a nice owl. And I can show you Agatha. Maybe she and Artemis are friends like we are.”

“Yeah, maybe!”

But Luisa only nodded slowly. When she didn’t move, Clara nudged her with her elbow and started back down the corridor. “C’mon, it’s this way.”

Luisa followed silently. The only sounds she made were the swishing of her robes, the clunk of her boots on the stone floor, and the soft munching as she ate her cookie. It was odd. Clara was so used to her enthusiastic babbling and just as active listening that she felt compelled to fill the silence as they walked to the owlery. She thanked her again for Artemis, told her about exploring the castle in her free time and finding nothing new so far, and mentioned each of her presents in turn, except for the rose and its roses, which she didn’t feel like mentioning in public. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Luisa to know about it, but more that she didn’t want anyone else to overhear it.

By the time they’d reached the owlery, Clara had run out of things to say. She’d even told Luisa about how she was kind of sort of making friends with Janet but wasn’t sure how that was going. “I actually wanted to ask you about that,” she finished as she held the door open to the owlery, which was abandoned other than the two of them and all of the owls, who were mostly sleeping, “but I—”

Clara hesitated as they entered the owlery, leaving them alone, and she blushed, unsure how to approach it. Finally, she asked, “Luisa, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?” It was like Luisa was suddenly shaken awake. She even jumped as the door to the owlery clicked shut behind them. “N-n-nothing’s wrong,” she said, her face falling as she faced Clara. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Clara frowned. “You’re not smiling, and you’re not talking, and you’re not listening, and you’re pretending like I don’t even exist.” She sat down on one of the window ledges and placed the plate of cookies next to her. “It’s just like with Hermione, only you didn’t make any new friends. “Did I do something wrong?”

Luisa shook her head slowly and sat on the ledge next to Clara, tentatively patting her leg. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “I just….”

“You just what?”

Luisa looked down at her black boots. “Christmas breaks are hard for me.”

“Because of Rafael and your dad?” Clara asked. She knew that the one Christmas break she’d had with her dad after he’d married Elena had been absolutely horrible and that the ones without her mom were just as bad. She couldn’t think of anything else that would make Luisa’s Christmas break so bad. “Does he like your brother more or something?”

“No.” Luisa drew the word out, head tilting even as she continued to look away from Clara. Then she was quiet, her hands playing with each other, before saying, finally, her voice very quiet, “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?” She waited for only a few seconds then continued as though Clara had agreed, even though Clara hadn’t said anything at all, “My mom’s at St. Mungo’s.”

Clara blinked a couple of times. “Where’s St. Mungo’s?”

“It’s, uh.” Luisa pressed her lips together. Then she said, all at once, the words rushing into each other, “It’s a place for very sick people who don’t seem to be getting better.” She took a deep breath. “My mom sees people who aren’t there.” Then Luisa leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, crumpled against her knees.

Clara blinked again, trying to parse through what Luisa had said. Her mom was sick? Her mom saw people who weren’t there? She didn’t really understand either of those – well, she understood being sick and not getting better, but the only people she knew of who saw people who weren’t there thought they were seeing ghosts and ghosts _did_ exist! She’d seen them here at Hogwarts! But none of that mattered as much as Luisa crumpled up next to her. She could hear her crying, but it wasn’t loud. It was a quiet thing. Luisa shivered with the weight of it.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Clara reached out towards Luisa and without hesitation pulled her friend toward her. Luisa wrapped her arms around Clara’s waist and buried her head against her. Clara could feel her crying, and she held her close to her. “It’s okay.” She wasn’t sure what else she could do except hold her and let her cry, so she just stayed where she was and let Luisa rest against her.

After a few minutes, Luisa moved back, rubbing one hand under her eyes. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay,” Clara said again because she didn’t know what else to say. She bit her tongue but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “So does that mean you don’t get to see her?”

Luisa shook her head. “Over Christmas break, Dad and Raf and I stay here instead of going back to America so we can spend Christmas with my mom. Raf’s a little brat because he doesn’t like her, and Dad keeps him entertained while I go see Mom.” She pressed her lips together and sniffled. “Last year, she didn’t even recognize me, and I thought she would this time, but….” She took another deep breath to steady herself. “She told me if she had a little girl, she’d want her to look like me. Told me my name was pretty and that she’d always wanted to name her daughter Luisa. Asked if I knew the story about Luisa the Luminous. I told her no so that she’d tell it to me again, but she didn’t do the voices.” Her eyes darkened, and then she shook her head, as though trying to clear it. “Doesn’t matter. She still told it.”

Clara wanted to mention that _she_ didn’t know the story, but this didn’t seem like the right time. “I’m sorry she didn’t know who you were, but it was nice to see her, wasn’t it?” She would do almost anything to see her mom again, even if she couldn't recognize her. “It’s nice that she’s still around. Maybe they’ll be able to find a cure for her. Maybe she’ll get better.”

“Thanks,” Luisa said, but her words sounded just as hollow as her smiles had looked. “It’s nice of you to say that, but they say there’s no curing her. She just has to learn what’s real and what’s not.” She didn’t look up. “How do you learn what’s not real when no one’s teaching you?”

Clara’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t _they_ teaching her?”

Luisa shook her head. “They can’t be! If they were, she’d be better this year instead of worse.” She looked dangerously close to tears again, and she wasn’t able to keep one from sliding down her cheek. “I just miss my mom.”

“I miss mine, too,” Clara said, looking down. “I wish I could see her again, but I don’t know where she is at all. I guess that’s kind of the same with your mom, though. You can see her, but you’re not really seeing her, and she’s somewhere in her head where you can’t get to her.” That might not really be what was going on, but it sounded right to her. “I don’t know why there isn’t a magic spell to just fix all of that. We’re witches, aren’t we? If we learn enough, maybe we’ll fix everything.”

“I don’t think so. If it worked like that, they’d already be fixed.” Luisa let out a long sigh, and one of the owls – a small dark brown one with white spots and big angry black eyes – swooped down and landed on her shoulder, nibbling on one of her ears. It didn’t take long for Luisa to giggle and smile – a real smile this time – and she ran a hand down the owl’s feathers before moving it away from her shoulder. “Hi, Aggie.”

That’s your owl, right?” Clara asked, barely remembering her from the beginning of the year. It was small, much smaller than Artemis was, but it was cute, like Luisa was. She couldn’t think of an owl that suited her better.

Luisa nodded with a bright grin. “Yeah, this is Agatha! I call her Aggie, though. Agatha feels really long sometimes.” She held her owl out, and Clara ran a hand along her feathers. “She’s really soft.”

“I like her a lot.”

“But not as much as Artemis?” Luisa asked, still grinning.

“I didn’t say that!” But as soon as Clara noticed Luisa’s grin, she realized the other girl was joking. “You have your owl and I have mine and it’d be bad if I liked yours more than mine, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess.” Luisa lifted her hand, and Agatha flew off to a perch a little ways away. Just next to her, Clara could see Artemis hiding her head behind one great wing. Agatha pecked at her feathers and then continued to stare at them.

Then Luisa took another one of the cookies and bit into it. “These are really good, Clara. You made these yourself?”

“Yeah.” Clara shrugged. “Figgy helped a bit.”

“Figgy the house elf.”

Clara nodded. “She’s really nice.” She ran her fingers along her necklace, pulling it out from under the collar of her shirt, and then sighed. “I wish I could help with your mom.”

“You did help!” Luisa turned back to Clara, eyes wide. “It helped just to talk about it!” She reached out and gave Clara another hug. “You helped a lot.” Then she let go and stepped back. “You said you were having trouble with Janet, right?”

Clara nodded. “I’m trying to be friends with her – we’re partners in most of our classes now and everything – but it’s like we’re only friends in class and then I don’t exist. Or she doesn’t.” She frowned. “I gave her some candy for Christmas—”

“—that you got from Hermione and didn’t want to accept so that doesn’t really count—”

“ _I gave her candy that should count for something._ ” Clara stuck her tongue out at Luisa then sighed. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

Luisa glanced at Clara’s necklace, and her head tilted ever so gently to one side. “I think I have an idea.”

* * *

Time passed, and as it did, the weather outside grew first colder and then wet with the humidity of spring. There was another Quidditch match, this time between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Clara kept eagle eyes posted on Snape for most of the match to see if he would do anything to Harry like Hermione had suggestedl. Or, at least, she tried to watch him. It was hard to keep eyes on both the referee and the game, and this time, Snape was the referee instead of Madam Hooch. And even if Slytherin wasn’t playing, Clara couldn’t help but be excited to see the game. Besides, Cedric was playing, and she wanted to see how he would do. It also didn’t help that she was sitting with Luisa and Bedelia again, who were both excited to see their house play.

But none of that seemed to matter – nothing went wrong with Harry during the game, and Snape didn’t seem to be doing anything to him, either. Then again, Clara had been certain he hadn’t – and he wouldn’t. It didn’t fit with the image of the professor who had been so nice to her after the end of their first class.

Things with Janet proceeded as they had been, and every now and again, Clara could feel Hermione’s eyes on them during Potions, although she hadn’t been able to catch her staring yet. Hermione didn’t ask about the present she’d sent, and Clara never thanked her for it either, since she hadn’t kept it. The book had been shoved into the back of her underwear drawer and slowly gathered dust. And with Janet’s help during class, Clara’s grades began to pull back up. She still wasn’t great at Potions, but she was better. For Clara, better was definitely a plus.

Most importantly, Luisa seemed to be back to normal. Every now and again, when she was especially worried or overcome, she would pull Clara aside, and they would make their way to the owlery to talk. She began to confide in Clara, just as Clara confided in her. Clara told her what she could remember about her mother and was finally given time to explain about the glass rose, even though Luisa didn’t have any idea what it could possibly be. Eventually, Luisa mentioned that her brother hadn’t been showing any signs of magic yet. It wasn’t a big worry; he still had three years where it would be most likely to show up. But Luisa’s magic had shown when she was just three years old, a little shine of sparkles and images of jellyfish floating above her head. Still, there wasn’t anything to be done about it but to wait and see.

And, of course, there was what Luisa suggested to help smooth things over with Janet.

It was deep into February when the package finally arrived. Artemis beat her big wings and landed just in front of Clara with a parcel wrapped in brown paper then took off again just as soon as Clara took the package from her. Clara tore into the paper and found two presents wrapped inside. One, wrapped in black and yellow, had Luisa’s name etched into it in her father’s handwriting, and the other, wrapped in green and silver, had Janet’s etched into it.

Clara grinned and nudged Luisa with her elbow. As soon as Luisa turned to her, she passed the black and yellow wrapped package to her. “Merry belated Christmas!”

Luisa’s eyes widened, and she gave Clara a shove. “I wasn’t supposed to get one!”

Clara stuck her tongue out at her. “I’d already told him to make you one. Open it!”

Luisa tore into the package, ripping away the paper to reveal a wooden figure of a girl who looked like her with a tiny brown owl sitting on her shoulder. “It’s me and Aggie!” She reached across and gave Clara a huge hug. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” Clara said, blushing. As she moved away from her friend, she noticed Janet staring at them and then just as quickly turning away. She looked back to Luisa with a little grin and then scooted down the bench next to Janet. “Jealous?”

“Wasn’t watching.”

“Didn’t say you were.” But Clara pulled out the other package and handed it to her. “Got you one, too.”

Janet frowned. “I told you I didn’t—”

“—need a pity present, I know.” Clara sighed. “But all of my friends are getting their presents late, so it’s not a pity thing.” She grinned and nudged her, even though Janet flinched at the touch. “It’s a you thing. Merry belated Christmas.”

Janet looked down at the present wrapped in green and silver paper with her name on it and then wordlessly took it. Whereas Luisa had torn into her package, Janet was much more careful, finding each of the places where the paper was taped together and splitting it apart and away with her nails, so that at the end, the entire piece of paper remained intact. There, in the middle of everything, was a little figurine carved to look like her – all black robes and black boots and hair pulled back into a tight braid and face in a fierce scowl of an expression – and with a little one-eyed, three-legged black cat perched in her arms with its head butting up against her chin.

Clara watched Janet, waiting to see if her expression would change, but the other girl was still wordless as she took the silver chain the figurine came with and threaded it through the little loop on the back. Then Janet pressed her lips together and, still not meeting Clara’s eyes, asked, voice soft, “Will you put it on for me?”

“Of course.” Clara very carefully clasped Janet’s necklace around her neck. “Do you like it?”

Janet didn’t say anything as she turned back around, but instead of the nodding Clara expected, she wrapped her arms around her in a short, formal little hug. It was over just as quickly as it happened, and Janet refused to look up as she scooted back. “Thank you,” she mumbled, voice still soft, and then, without finishing her breakfast, she took the piece of wrapping paper and ribbon and stalked off.

Clara scooted back down the bench near where Luisa was sitting at the Hufflepuff table. “Do you think that went okay?” she asked, still watching as Janet left the dining hall.

Luisa nodded once, sharply. “I think that was perfect.”


	14. The Invisibility Cloak

From the day she got her (belated) Christmas present, Janet was – not nicer, maybe, but certainly more friendly. She started to join Clara in study hall, and the two of them did their homework together. It was Janet who kept Clara awake during their Astronomy lessons, which met at midnight and continued through to five on Thursday mornings, and it was Janet who taught her some of the finer points of potions-making. It wasn’t the same as studying with Hermione, but Janet found ways to explain what Clara didn’t understand, which Hermione had never been able to do.

Hermione was actually the problem now – along with her two best friends. It wasn’t often, and it wasn’t consistent, but Clara overheard the three of them whispering about Snape. Every time they saw her approaching, they stopped, as though they didn’t want anyone else to hear them, but if she was really careful, she could anyway. Sometimes they mentioned other things she didn’t understand: a three-headed dog, Nicholas Flamel, and the Sorcerer’s Stone. It was the mention of a three-headed dog that stood out most to her, as well as the two full sentences she was able to snatch: _Snape set the troll on Halloween_ and _Snape wants the Sorcerer’s Stone_.

Clara knew better than to confront them. The red-headed Weasley boy still made her uncomfortable; something still seemed wrong with him. And even though Hermione had previously been kind to her, the Potter boy seemed…. Well, she didn’t quite know how she felt about Potter. She only knew that she didn’t like them and that there was no way they would listen to her, a Slytherin, sticking up for her head of house.

But if she had proof, they would have to listen to her. Hermione, at least, would listen to real proof. Clara just didn’t know how to go about proving it to them. She didn’t know what they would believe.

Then one day, after Potions, after she’d seen them passing notes to each other about things she knew they were afraid of Snape hearing them say out loud, Clara caught them whispering again. Her brows furrowed in anger, and she glared at them as they walked off.

“What’s wrong?” Janet asked as she stopped next to Clara, watching as the trio walked away.

Clara started down the corridor after them, far enough away that they couldn't be heard. “Haven’t you heard? They keep talking about Snape cursing Harry and something to do with a three-headed dog and—” She stopped short before bringing up the troll. A part of her still didn’t fully trust Jane,t so she held back. “They’re wrong. He wouldn’t do anything like that!”

Janet’s expression didn’t change, but her hands clenched at her sides. “I should hex them,” she said, voice soft. “Then they’d know better than to talk bad about our head of house.”

“I don’t think that would help.”

Janet turned to Clara, brows rising. “You don’t want me to hex them?”

“No.” Clara shook her head and frowned. “Why do you have to hex everyone? Why can’t you just be yourself and be nice?”

“Pick one. I can’t do both.”

They stopped just outside of the dining hall, and Clara turned to Janet, fingers drumming against her potions book. “Janet, you spend a lot of time in the dungeons, right? And exploring?”

Janet gave Clara a confused look, then she nodded once. “Why?”

Clara pulled Janet to one side, only for Janet to wrest her arm out of Clara’s hand once they stopped. “Sorry,” Clara said, “I didn’t think—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Janet watched her curiously. “What’s wrong?”

Clara’s voice quieted down to a hush. “Were you in the dungeons on Halloween?” she whispered. “When…when the troll got in?”

Janet’s eyes didn’t widen the way Luisa’s might if she were asked the same question. Instead, her eyes shifted away, focusing on one of the railings on the nearby stairwell. “Yes,” she said finally, gaze returning to Clara.

“Was…was Snape there?” Clara asked, trying to keep her voice soft. “Did you see him at all?”

Janet pressed her lips together and then shook her head. “No. I didn’t see him.” She took a deep breath, and her eyes shifted away again. “But I saw someone else.”

 _Someone else?_ Clara started to move closer before she remembered that Janet wasn’t comfortable with that sort of thing. She tried to meet Janet’s eyes, but the other girl wouldn’t look at her. “Who did you see?” she asked when Janet didn’t elaborate.

Janet glanced down. “One of the other professors.” She paused, took another deep breath, and then continued, “The little funny one with the turban who always smells weird and tries to cover it up with garlic.”

_The little funny one with the turban—_

Clara’s eyes widened as she realized. “Quirrell?” Her heart stopped. If she thought about it, she could almost remember overhearing the trio mentioning him in passing, too, but she’d thought they’d said something else.

Janet shrugged. “He always seemed more like a squirrel to me.”

Clara blinked. She gave Janet a blank stare before realizing that the other girl was joking with her. A smile lit her face, and she laughed. “He does. He’s so scared of everything.” Then she shook her head. “But _of course_ Professor Quirrell was in the dungeons. He was the one who first saw the troll, wasn’t he? And he came and warned everybody about it.”

“He was the only other person I saw in the dungeons,” Janet said with a firm look. “He was there for hours before dinner, talking with someone, although I couldn’t see who, and he was still there afterwards. I went there after Flying to see. Then there was the troll and him leading it with a wand before disappearing up the stairs.” She tightened her hand on her wand. “I wanted to hex the troll myself, but it seemed hazy and obedient to something. Then there was all the commotion upstairs, and I thought it might be better to meet with everyone.” She frowned and met Clara’s eyes. “I didn’t want anyone thinking I’d brought the troll in, after all.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?” Clara asked, eyes still wide. “We shouldn’t have a professor around who’s letting in trolls and then lying about it!”

Janet shrugged again. “Who would you believe? Me, or the stuttering, funny professor?”

“You, of course,” Clara said, but it was a lie. She knew that if Janet had told her anything like that on her birthday – or any time before Christmas – she wouldn’t have believed her at all. In fact, she would have disliked her almost as much as she disliked Hermione and the boys for bringing up accusations against Snape. Not as much, because she liked Snape better than Quirrell, but close. In fact, she had thought Janet brought the troll in, even though she hadn’t had any proof, and if she’d been caught down there—

“No, you wouldn’t,” Janet said, her voice very matter-of-fact, as though she wasn’t offended in the least. Her eyes shifted back to the dining hall. “We should eat.”

Clara’s stomach gave a great rumbling noise in agreement. “I guess,” she continued, “but I want you to help me look into all this. Quirrell, I mean. If he was talking with someone, maybe _they_ made him get the troll.” She followed Janet into the hall. “I can’t imagine he’d want to hurt any of us.”

“Suit yourself.” Janet sat down on the long bench. “But….” And she hesitated, fork tapping against her golden plate for a few seconds before continuing, “Just because you think someone won’t hurt you doesn’t mean they won’t.” She looked over to Clara, dark eyes flashing. “He looks harmless, but he’s a professor. Professors aren’t harmless.”

Clara nodded. “So help me, then,” she said, voice firm. “If he’s so dangerous, I shouldn’t be watching him alone.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing since Halloween?” Janet asked, still quiet. Her eyes shifted away from Clara to where Quirrell sat at the staff table high above where they sat. She leaned forward, elbows resting on their table. “I don’t know what we’ll find, but it’ll be nice to finally be working with someone.”

“Instead of alone.” Clara smiled and gently nudged Janet’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ve got me now. You’re never gonna have to be alone again.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Clara came to the unfortunate realization that watching Quirrell didn’t reveal much of anything at all. He seemed to act like most of the other professors did – class, hall, class, hall – and even in his free periods, he spent most of his time in his classroom or his office, mumbling to himself. In fact, that was the strangest thing about him. It even sounded like he was using different voices, like how her mom had when she would read bedtime stories to her when she was a kid. She couldn’t think of any reason why he would be talking to himself that way, but she guessed maybe it was comforting to him.

The other problem was that Clara was certain Quirrell was up to stuff late at night or early in the mornings when they were still supposed to be in their rooms. With curfew when it was, there wasn’t much time to try and follow him or see what he was doing, unless she wanted to break curfew. But she didn’t want to try that sort of thing unless she knew for sure that she would get something out of it; there was no point in risking being caught for Quirrell to just sit in his office talking to himself like he was during the day. She wasn’t that stupid.

Then one day, Clara overheard Quirrell mumbling something that sounded frightening: _Yes, master. I’ll go. I thought I would have it by now, but—_

And then that hissing that was his other voice, the one that she had trouble understanding, followed by Quirrell saying, quite clearly, _Tonight. Of course, I must go later. I’ve been putting it off for too long._

He started towards the door, and Clara hurried out of the way, considering his words carefully. If he was getting out, then she needed to get out, too.

She just wasn’t sure how.

* * *

Clara stayed up late, later, latest in the Slytherin common room as the green light filtering in through the iced over lake grew lower and lower until it disappeared entirely. Despite the help from Janet, she thought it would be better for her to do this alone. Trying to sneak two people through the castle after curfew just meant one of them would be more likely to get caught; one person could go father and do better alone, no matter how important having a friend as a backup might be.

The problem was that Clara wasn’t the only one determined to stay up. In fact, Draco lounged across one of the black leather couches, legs propped up on one of its arms, with his eyes half-closed as though he’d dozed off. But he was faking. She knew he was faking. Every now and again, one of his ice blue eyes would pop open and scan the room to see if anyone was still there, and whenever he caught sight of Clara, his hands would clench into little fists. Then he would close his eyes tight and fake relaxing again.

Clara didn’t care what Draco was up to, but she definitely didn’t want him to see her leave. He didn’t seem like anything more than a little snitch. If he saw her leaving, he’d probably try to get one of the professors or Filch to catch her. Then she would get into trouble. Like Janet before her, Clara didn’t think any of the professors would believe that something was wrong with Quirrell – they would believe him before they believed her, even if she thought they were more likely to believe her than they would Janet.

So, trying to get Draco to get up and do whatever it was he was planning to do, Clara feigned a loud yawn (much better than he faked resting, she thought) and walked over to the stairwell up to the girls’ rooms. Then she hid behind the wall and peeked out, watching him.

As soon as she was gone, Draco jumped up from his position on the couch. He gave the commons one final look over, as though to make sure that he was completely alone, and then he crept over and through the doorway out of Slytherin.

Clara’s eyes widened. So maybe she wasn’t the only one who had plans outside of the dormitory when they weren’t supposed to. If she didn’t have Quirrell to follow, she would have been much more interested in following Draco. But since she had other priorities, she turned the opposite way down the hallway and started slinking off to Quirrell’s office.

It took much longer to get there than it did during the day. Clara kept having to stop and hide behind suits of armor or into opposing corridors as Filch or one of the ghosts passed her by. But, eventually, she made it. The problem was that it had taken her so long to get to his office that Quirrell was long gone by the time she got there, and she couldn’t think of any way to find him. She thought about unlocking his door and going through his things, but that wouldn’t tell her anything about where he was or what he was doing. Besides, if she was doing something super sneaky and super shady – like creeping about in the rest of the castle after hours – she wasn’t going to write it down or what she was planning to do for anyone else to find it. And if _she_ wasn’t that stupid, then Quirrell wouldn’t be either.

But as she thought about it, Clara remembered something important – Quirrell said he was going somewhere. Maybe, if she made her way to the highest tower and looked through its windows, she could see him and find out where he was going. Then she could race down and make her way there and find him!

So Clara quickly made her way from Quirrell’s office, hiding as much as she could. She didn’t run into Draco at all, but when she got close to the tower, she noticed that Filch was already there, standing in one place as though he was waiting on someone or something. Clara hid down one of the other corridors, peeking out every now and again to see what was happening. As she watched, Hermione and Potter danced triumphantly down the stairs, only to stop in their tracks when they saw Filch. He said something to them – he was too far away for her to make out the words – and their faces fell. She flattened herself against the wall and held her breath as the three of them walked past her. Then she ran up the stairway to the top of the tower, hoping that going in the opposite direction would help keep Filch from seeing her.

But someone must have heard the pounding of her footsteps up the stairway because as soon as she arrived, Clara could hear someone else following her. At the top of the tower, there was nowhere, absolutely nowhere, to hide, and she suddenly regretted not having Janet and her hexing abilities with her. She turned to face whoever might be coming up the stairs, backing away slowly—

And then she slipped!

Clara whirled her hands in the air a few times to right herself, and then she turned and looked at the floor behind her. There was some sort of fabric or something on the ground – she’d slipped on it after all – but she couldn’t see anything. She bent down and ran her fingers along the stone floor and found the fabric by touch. Then she lifted it up. No matter what she tried, she still couldn’t see anything, and when she held it over her hands, she realized that she couldn’t see them, either, only the stone floor beneath them. Her eyes widened, and she threw the fabric about herself, hiding herself beneath it as best as she could. She held her breath.

Much to her surprise, it was none other than Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy professor, who entered the tower after her. On second thought, maybe that wasn’t so surprising. The professor didn’t seem particularly interested in finding a student at all; instead, she curled up in one of the windows and began to look outside, as though Clara didn’t exist.

Whatever this fabric was, Clara was happy she had found it. She certainly would have been in a lot of trouble if she hadn’t.

As Sinistra curled up in the window, Clara remembered why she’d come to the tower in the first place – to look outside and see if she could find Quirrell. She stepped closely over to where Sinistra was sitting, careful not to brush up against her or her robes, and then looked through the windows, eyes scanning the grounds over and over and over again. But there was nothing. No Quirrell. Nothing out of the ordinary, so far as she could tell. She took a deep breath – after all of that, she had failed.

Well, no. She hadn’t failed exactly. She had this fabric that made her invisible! That was almost better than following Quirrell! More importantly, it would definitely help her follow him next time.

But next time, maybe she would bring friends with her. The fabric was certainly big enough, after all. Then she wouldn’t have to do all of this alone.

* * *

Clara returned to the Slytherin dormitory under the cover of the fabric, still excited by how it seemed to make her completely invisible. She saw Draco returning and followed him through the entrance, almost running into him when she noticed that he had stopped just inside the door. Since she wasn’t much taller than him, she had to walk around him to see what was going on.

“What are you doing up?” Draco whined, even though he sounded like he was trying to be macho.

Across from Draco was none other than Janet, standing just in front of one of the huge, leather chairs, arms crossed. “I could ask you the same thing.” She stepped forward, thick black boots making a clunking sound on the cobblestone floor. It was something she must have chosen at the last minute; she was still wearing her long, grey nightgown – the one that didn’t fit quite right, with sleeves much too long that she’d pushed back to show hands that seemed tiny in comparison to the huge gown itself. “It’s past curfew. How many points did you cost us?”

“I didn’t cost us anything.” Draco started forward, pushing past Janet, hand clenched into fists.

But Janet touched his shoulder with one hand, and he froze. She didn’t smile; she didn’t even have to look at him. Her wand flicked once as she muttered something under her breath.

All of a sudden, Draco was on his back on the floor in front of her, a bright red mark marring his now bare left shoulder. There was a new rip across and through his black robes, and it ripped further as he bent up on his elbows and scooted away from her. His blue eyes widened. He flinched as Janet took another step forward. “I got detention!” he said under her withering stare.

“How many points, egghead?” Janet twisted her wand, and the red mark began to spread beneath his robes.

Draco squirmed. “Fifty!” He gritted his teeth together, probably trying not to scream. “Fifty points, I cost us fifty points, let me go!”

Janet stared at him, the tip of her wand moving to point at his heart. “Did you work alone, or do I need to punish anyone else?”

“No one!” Draco yelled. Tears began to spring from the corners of his eyes. “It was just me! Please let me go!”

Janet just continued to stare at him. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scrawny boy on the ground in front of her. Then she flicked her wand again and lowered it to her side. All at once, Draco jumped up and ran away to the boys’ rooms, holding his hand against his shoulder. She didn’t watch him go, instead letting out a deep breath and collapsing back into the chair behind her. Her other hand reached out as though to touch something next to her, but when there was nothing, she looked back up, dark eyes wild. “Cat?”

It was then that Clara felt something butt up against her right leg, and she jumped. There was a soft meow below her. She looked down to see Cat the cat staring up at her with his one great golden green eye. He leaned back on his back legs and tapped his one front paw on her leg. He didn’t meow at her again.

Clara looked up to see Janet staring at what must, to her, look like empty space in front of him. She bent down, lifted the fabric from her head (it had a hood like a cloak), and reached her hand out to scratch just between his ears. “Hey, Cat,” she said, but she was afraid. If that was how Janet treated Draco, then how was she going to react to _her_? Good thing Cat was between them. Janet wouldn’t hurt Cat.

But immediately, Janet was there, wrapping her arms around where Clara guessed she thought the rest of her body was and leaning forward against her. As soon as her hands found Clara’s shoulders, though, she shoved her backwards and glared at her. “Where _were_ you?” She might have been speaking quietly, but there was a fierce intensity to her voice that, along with the memory of what had happened to Draco, scared Clara.

“I didn’t lose us any points, and I didn’t get detention,” Clara said quickly, taking a deep breath, “and it was just me and I didn’t go with anyone.” Her eyes searched Janet’s. “So you don’t have to hex me. I didn’t—”

“You think I care about that?” Janet shoved her again.

“But you…with Draco….”

“He’s an ass.” Janet leaned back and crossed her arms again. “I’ve been wanting to hex him for months. Finally had a good excuse.” She looked Clara over. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

Clara had completely forgotten about the cloak. She stared down at herself, seeing splotches of her clothes or her skin and then nothing and then herself again somewhere else, and grinned sheepishly. “It’s this fabric – I think it’s a cloak—” She pulled it the rest of the way off and handed it over to Janet. “It’s huge, and it makes whatever’s underneath it invisible. I think it could fit three of us under it; it’s that big!”

Janet’s brows furrowed. “Where did you find it?” she asked, holding the fabric in one hand. She draped it around her shoulders and shivered. “It’s a shit cloak. It doesn’t even help you keep warm.”

“So wear another cloak underneath it. I don’t think it’s for keeping you warm.” Clara glanced over Janet’s shoulder to the leather chairs and the green fire still flickering in the fireplace. “Can we go sit over there? The floor is cold.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Janet gently picked Cat up and walked over towards the fireplace, still carrying the cloak Clara had found in one hand. Cat reached over and patted it with his one front paw, but nothing happened. He sniffed at it once Janet sat down in one of the chairs with him, but as soon as he was done, he jumped off and curled up right in front of the fireplace, nose resting just on the tip of his long black tail.

Once she was sitting, Clara hunched over, faced the fireplace, and then told Janet everything that had happened – from overhearing Quirrell whispering to himself about a master and needing to go out to her attempts to follow him that were impaired by Draco to trying to figure out wherever it was he had gone and then going up to the highest tower and tripping over this magical fabric and finally giving up on finding him. As she explained, Janet listened, not even interrupting with questions or any clarification as Luisa might have done, and Clara couldn’t help but be afraid that somehow she was making her new friend upset. She didn’t want Janet to hex her – friends might not hex friends, but if Janet had never had a friend before, she might not know that.

Clara had never seen Janet actually hex someone before. It was terrifying.

When she was done, Clara waited to see what Janet would say. But there was nothing, only the sound of popping coming from the fire still flickering in the fireplace. She turned away from the flames to look at her friend, afraid of what she would see, and found that Janet hadn’t moved at all but was sitting just as still as she had been when Clara arrived.

Clara swallowed once. “Janet? Did you hear me?”

“What happened to watching him together?” Janet asked, her voice so quiet that Clara could barely hear it over the crackling of the fire. “I shared everything with you, and you said you wouldn’t leave me alone. Then you disappeared without any warning.” She pressed her lips together in a firm line. “I could have helped you.”

“You could have gotten us caught!” Clara exclaimed. “I thought, if there was more than just me, Filch and Mrs. Norris would have heard us! I didn’t even tell Luisa—”

“She’s not part of this,” Janet snapped, hand tightening on her wand. Cat’s ears flicked up at her harsh tone, and he opened his one golden green eye, stared at her, and then shut it again with a little sigh. It was another moment before Janet continued. “Cat could have distracted them. He’s smart about that. Mrs. Norris hates him. She would’ve chased him instead of going after us.”

Clara didn’t think that was the way that worked, but she didn’t say it. Instead, she reached over and touched the cloak she’d found on the tower’s floor. “Next time, you can come with me under this!” She grinned. “No one will see us at all.” Her eyes lit up, and she turned to face Janet, unable to keep from smiling. “And there’s enough room for Luisa, too! We’d be unstoppable!”

Janet didn’t say anything. Her gaze, still intense and furious, never wavered from its glare, and her jaw shifted, teeth gritting together.

As she glared at her, Clara’s grin wavered. If she’d thought she’d said or done something wrong before, she was certain she had now. Probably Janet was just mad at her for not taking her with her. She reached over as though to nudge the other girl’s arm and then, remembering how much Janet hated being touched, stopped herself just in time. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You didn’t make me mad.” Janet’s voice said otherwise. But her hand lessened its tight hold on her wand, and she reached forward, brushing her hand along Cat’s back. He began to purr. His eye, though, focused on Clara before shutting again. Then, finally, Janet said, “Fine.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll come with you. Next time.” Janet didn’t look away from Cat. “In case you need me to hex someone.”

Clara laughed. “You think you’ll be able to hex a professor? After all that talk about how scary they can be?”

Janet glared at her again. “Better than you or your sugar friend can.” She took a deep breath. “Better than anyone else.” Then she stood up, carefully picking Cat up from his nice warm place in front of the fire. “I’m going to sleep. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll join me.” She handed the cloak back to Clara, but as she did so, her wand brushed up against Clara’s jeans. Despite how thick the fabric was, Clara felt a tiny shock on her skin, but she didn’t say anything.

It was probably just static.


	15. The Man With Two Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR POSTING THIS LATER I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO POST IT WHEN I NORMALLY DO AND THEN REMEMBERED AND THEN FORGOT AGAIN BEFORE AT A TIME BETTER FOR POSTING SO SORRY.

As the end of the school year drew near, Clara and Janet continued to take turns listening in on Quirrell. They still studied together in study hall, but past that, they could rarely be seen together outside of class. Even their dining hours were estranged – Clara would wake up a little earlier than Janet so that she could keep track of him while Janet was eating, and Janet would do the same in the evening, staying out a little later so that Clara wouldn’t be tempted to follow him with the cloak past curfew.

Nothing seemed any different, though. No matter how much time they spent following and listening to him, there was no indication he would be leaving again to go do whatever it was he’d needed to do before. Even weirder, Quirrell seemed the picture of a perfect professor; he was actually more normal than before, despite the garlic and the whispering. But that didn’t give up.

“What’s going on with you two?” Luisa finally asked one morning as Clara tapped Janet’s shoulder and Janet followed Quirrell out of the dining hall. “I feel like I hardly even see you anymore!”

Clara took a chocolate chip muffin from a huge plate of them and then turned to face Luisa with a sigh. “Sorry! I’m not trying to ignore you. It’s just that—” She took a bite of her muffin, chewed it as fast as she could, and then swallowed with a grimace. “—you know how Quirrell’s always talking to himself?”

“Yeah?” Luisa said, brows raising. “You’re not taking him seriously, are you?”

Clara nodded, mouth full with another bite. “Janet was down in the dungeons on my birthday, you know, when the troll got out? Quirrell was the only one down there, and he was talking to himself about not wanting to do something, and she saw the troll after Quirrell left, and it seemed all fuzzy-headed and confused – it ignored her completely until Quirrell yelled, and—” She stopped as she noticed Luisa staring at her. “What?”

“Why didn’t she tell one of the other professors?” Luisa asked. “Why would she just keep that sort of thing to herself?”

Clara took a quick gulp of milk. “It’s Janet. They wouldn’t have believed her.” One corner of her lip curled up. “I wouldn’t have believed her either. We weren’t exactly friends.” Then she reached over and tapped Luisa, her already hushed voice growing even quieter. “He said something once about needing to go out and do something after curfew, and I tried to follow him and found a nifty cloak that makes people invisible, and next time we try to follow him, you should come with us.” She grinned. “It’s big enough to cover all of us. We could come get you!”

“ _Next time?”_ Luisa’s eyes widened. “What do you mean _next time_?”

Clara leaned forward conspiratorially. “He mentioned trying to get something, and I don’t think he’s got it yet, so whatever it is he had to do, he’ll probably do it again, yeah? So we just use the cloak and disappear and—” She stopped as she noticed Luisa’s expression falling. “What?”

“You don’t even know where he’s going!” Luisa said, her whole body giving a great violent shudder. “What if it’s a trap?”

“Can’t be a trap. He doesn’t know we’re following him.” Clara took another bite. “Besides, if it’s a trap, wouldn’t you want to make sure you’re with us? Janet might be good at hexes and everything, but that’s probably nothing compared to having a second year with us.”

Luisa frowned. “You should get Bedelia. Or Cedric. Or one of your prefects.” She looked over the Slytherin table. “Alana seems nice.”

“They wouldn’t believe us either,” Clara said, crossing her arms, “and they’re all about following the rules, aren’t they? So they definitely wouldn’t want to be sneaking out when they aren’t supposed to.” She frowned. “Besides, you’re my friend, and I want you to come with us.” Then she leaned forward with wide eyes. “Please?”

“Fine, fine!” Luisa’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll go with you.” Then it softened. “I just don’t think this is a good idea, following professors around after hours. There could be a lot of things they’re doing and a lot of reasons they’re doing them. It’s probably not any of our business.”

Clara shrugged, finishing off her muffin. “Don’t you want to know why he keeps talking to himself so much?”

“Not really.” Luisa turned back to her platter of pancakes and sighed. “Just…just let me know. When you go. So I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Will do!” Clara paused, slowly making herself a bowl of cereal, and then turned back to Luisa. “Have you…have you heard anything from your dad or Rafael? About his…about his magic?”

Luisa shook her head sadly. “I haven’t gotten any letters from them since I told you about it. But maybe, when exams are over, and when I go back, Raf will do something. Or maybe Dad’s waiting until they pick me up to tell me, so that we can celebrate together.”

But it didn’t sound like Luisa believed any of that.

Clara reached over and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll do something eventually. It just might take a little bit longer. Maybe he’s a late bloomer.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Of course he is.” Luisa tried to smile, but it didn’t sit quite right. She stared at her half-eaten plate of pancakes and then stood. “I think I’m gonna go to class. I’ll see you later, right?”

Clara nodded. “Right. And I’ll let you know about Quirrell. It’ll probably be any day now.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

Any day now turned out to be the very next day. This time, it wasn’t Clara who overheard Quirrell, but Janet, who overheard not just the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in his normal voice, but also that of the hissing one. This time it was the other voice commanding him to do something and his normal voice stutteringly agreeing to it, but the sentiment was the same as before – he had to go, he had to do something, and as much as he didn’t want to do it, he would. Immediately.

Janet got the word to Clara in their next class, along with mentioning that the Potter boy seemed to be watching Quirrel now, too – she’d just barely seen him through an open door on the other side of the classroom, although she was certain he hadn’t seen her – and the comment made Clara wonder if Hermione hadn’t taken some of what she’d said to heart and realized that Snape wasn’t the problem at all. She doubted it, though. That evening at dinner, Clara got the word to Luisa, who agreed to meet them at the entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitory shortly after curfew.

As they draped themselves in the cloak of invisibility, Janet seemed a little annoyed at something, although she wouldn’t say what. Clara didn’t ask more than once, too focused on what they were doing and what they needed to do, already feeling more excited for what they might see – the proof they might have to share with Hermione and clear Snape’s name. The two of them walked a little slowly, tucked beneath the cloak and close together, but they made it to Hufflepuff all the same.

Clara poked her head out near the barrels just long enough for the entrance to open, and then, once Luisa appeared, she grabbed her arm and pulled her underneath the cloak with them. She took a deep breath. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Luisa nodded once and then turned to Janet. Her eyes widened. “Wow, you really do look just like me.”

Janet’s eyes narrowed. “I’m nothing like you.”

But Janet’s grim demeanor didn’t seem to faze Luisa at all. The Hufflepuff just smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Luisa Alver. I know we talked a little a while ago, but I don’t think we’ve really been properly introduced.”

“I remember who you are.” Janet looked at Luisa’s hand but didn’t take it, instead turning to Clara. “Can we go now?”

Despite knowing that Janet didn’t like it, Clara wrapped one arm around her neck. “Luisa, this is Janet. She doesn’t like talking much. I don’t think she likes _people_ much. But give her time, and she’ll warm up to you. Probably. I think.” She turned and grinned at Janet. “That sound about right?”

Janet grabbed Clara’s wrist a little too tightly and unwrapped her arm from around her neck. “Don’t touch me.” Then she glared at her. “And if you want to go after Quirrell, we need to do _that_ instead of standing here chattering like idiots. You missed him the first time. You don’t want to miss him again.”

“Right, right.” Clara sighed. “You’re right.”

“So let’s _go_.”

They made their way to Quirrell’s office just in time to see their professor and his turban as he locked the door behind him. He looked over his shoulder, face steeled, and examined the corridor around him. Seeing nothing, he whirled and walked away, pulling a dark, hooded cloak about his shoulders. As he made his way through back corridors and down to the dungeons, the three girls followed him beneath the cloak, and although they were a little slower, considering how closely they had to stand next to each other to all remain invisible, they found that they were able to keep up fairly easily. Quirrell began to talk to himself again, switching between his voice and the soft hissing one, as they left the castle through a back entrance out of the dungeons, but they weren’t close enough to make out any of the words.

“This must be the door he used to get the troll into the castle,” Clara whispered as they continued to follow Quirrell across the grounds. “He must have gotten him from—”

Then they realized exactly where Quirrell was heading – the forest that Dumbledore had forbidden students to enter at the very beginning of the year. All of a sudden, they started making less progress – Luisa was dragging her feet. “Are you really sure we should be doing this?” she asked, quiet and afraid. “We’re not supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest. There’s a lot of dangerous things in there!”

“There’s a lot of dangerous things in here, too,” Janet said, glaring at her, “and if you want to go back, you can, but you’re not taking the cloak.”

“You can’t be as dangerous as the forest.” Luisa frowned. “I just…I think this is a bad idea.” She turned to Clara. “I don’t think this is going to end well, chasing professors somewhere we aren’t supposed to be going.”

Clara heard her, but she didn’t say anything, too focused on Quirrell up ahead. “We need to go faster,” she said, a little too loud. “He’s going to get away, and then we’ll get lost trying to find him!”

So, despite Luisa’s warning, the group of girls began to move faster. They passed into the Forbidden Forest and realized that, as easy as it might have been to follow Quirrell under the moonlight across the grounds, it was a lot harder to follow him here, through tall, dark trees where the moonlight didn’t get through. More than once, they almost lost him as he passed behind a tree they hadn’t noticed, and Luisa kept turning back, as though trying to make sure she could still find the way out. Spiders crept along the ground and trees around them, and Clara thought she could see a fox or two just on the edges of her vision. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the foxes were watching and following them the same way they were following Quirrell, but foxes weren’t like that. Animals weren’t like that.

Still—

Every now and again, they could hear other footsteps through the forest around them. Clara was so focused on following Quirrell that she didn’t pay them any attention, but she could hear Luisa whispering, “We can’t go check those out. If we do, it’s probably the forest trying to trap us or one of the other magical creatures out here. There’s no way they—”

“Shhhhh.” Clara patted Luisa’s arm. She slowed down, letting Janet take the lead and maintain focus on Quirrell, and turned to Luisa. “It’s going to be okay.” She took Luisa’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s just a forest. Back at my place, I spend a lot of time by the riverbank and around the trees and animals there, and I’ve always been fine. We’ll be fine here, too, okay?”

Luisa nodded once. “Okay.” But she lowered her head, staring at the ground, ashamed and afraid. She reached out and touched Clara’s arm, stopping her. “Look.”

“At what?” Janet snapped.

But Clara could see what it was Luisa had seen, and her eyes widened. “Oh, wow.” She bent down to more closely examine the thick, silvery substance on the ground. “Have either of you ever seen anything like this before?”

Luisa shook her head, but Janet carefully bent down beneath the cloak, stretching it a little farther than it wanted to stretch, and reached out, just touching it. As she did, Luisa grabbed at her shoulder, trying to stop her, but Janet roughly shoved her off. “Don’t touch me—”

“Don’t touch it! You don’t know what it is!”

But Janet already had it on her fingers. Her gaze sharpened, and she sniffed it. When she opened her mouth to taste it, Clara nudged her with one elbow. “Don’t be stupid,” she said under the weight of Janet’s glare. “If you don’t know what a magic substance is, you don’t stick it in your mouth.”

“I know what it is,” Janet said, glaring at her. “It’s blood.” She held her fingertips out to Clara. “Feel.”

Clara reached out, just touching Janet’s fingers where the silvery substance was, and her brows furrowed. “How do you know what blood feels like? Mine doesn’t feel like this.”

“Smell it, then. I’m sure if we tasted it, it’d be that nasty sort of – you know when you cut your finger and shove it in your mouth? That.” Janet rubbed her fingers against her cloak, wiping the substance she’d deemed blood off of them. “If I tasted it, I’d know for sure, but fine, I won’t put it in my mouth.”

Clara turned and looked at the ground behind them, as well as the stretch in front of them, and realized they – and Quirrell – were following a trail of it. “We didn’t see Quirrell attack anything, did we?”

Luisa shook her head, as did Janet. “Maybe,” Luisa said, voice soft, “maybe he’s trying to help something. Someone.”

“Some _thing_ ,” Janet corrected. “There’s no person alive with blood like this. Except maybe a vampire. Or a werewolf.”

“Quirrell’s terrified of vampires,” Clara said. “That’s why he smells like garlic all the time.”

“So maybe he’s hunting one?” Luisa asked. “You said he was scared. Maybe that’s why!” Her face fell. “And maybe that’s why Dumbledore didn’t want us going into the forest – so we don’t get eaten by vampires!”

“I don’t think there are vampires in the forest. And that still doesn’t explain why Quirrell set a troll loose in the castle.” Clara turned to Janet, who gave a shrug. It crossed her mind that they could turn back, but she stood instead, brushing the dirt from her hands. “We won’t know for sure until we see it for ourselves,” she said. “C’mon. If he’s following this, we can follow it, too.” And she started forward again.

All of a sudden, there was a great crashing through the forest next to them, and in a moment of panic, Luisa ran forward along the trail of blood, pulling the other girls along with her. Clara stumbled and fell out from beneath the cloak, ripping her jeans along the trail and scraping her knee, and Janet untangled herself from it. When Clara stood, her knee was bloody – spattered with both her blood and the silver one next to it – and she saw Janet standing over and beside her, wand out and at the ready.

“I told you we shouldn’t bring her with us.”

Clara brushed her hands against her jeans again. “She’ll come back. It’s her that noticed the blood. We need her.”

“No, we don’t.” Janet looked her over. “Get your wand out. The forest’s dangerous, and without that cloak, we’re vulnerable. It’ll try to get us now.”

They stood back to back, wands out, staring around at the forest as the crashing came nearer, louder, and then seemed to pass through and around them before disappearing somewhere behind them. Clara gave a great shudder as the sound stopped and then relaxed, leaning forward, hands on her knees, wand lowered. “It didn’t get us.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t.” Janet nodded toward the trail of blood. “Let’s keep moving.”

If she’d been stuck with Luisa instead of Janet, Clara was certain the other girl would have convinced her to walk back to the castle. But Janet was different. She started further down the trail of blood into the forest, and without thinking, Clara followed.

The two of them walked side by side along the trail until they came to a tree that appeared to have something shivering in front of it. The grass and small flowers kept moving back and forth before it, and when they moved towards it, there was a little yelp. Clara jumped, but Janet reached out and tore something away, revealing Luisa crouched there. Luisa held up a hand and gave them a little wave. “Hi.”

“You left us,” Janet accused through gritted teeth. She held her wand out, pointing it at her.

“You didn’t run with me!”

“We didn’t run.”

Clara sighed. Then she took the cloak from Janet. “C’mon. Argue about it later. If we’re gonna find out what Quirrell’s doing, we have to keep going.” She wrapped the cloak over and around herself and then held the edges out for her friends.

Luisa didn’t move. “We should go back. Whatever that was could come after us at any moment.”

“Yeah, and if you don’t run away again, we’ll all still be under the cloak, and it won’t be able to see us.” Janet kept her wand out, still pointing it at Luisa. “Get moving.”

Luisa’s gaze turned to Clara, and she met her eyes. “Please.”

Clara stood her ground. “You can stay here if you want, but Janet and I are going on ahead.” She moved closer to Luisa. “Probably worse to stay here by yourself.” Then she held out her hand. “C’mon. Told you before, nothing’s gonna happen to you. Janet’ll make sure of that. Right, Janet?” She turned back to face the other girl.

Janet scowled and made a motion as though to cross her arms but couldn’t quite because she still wanted to hold her wand out at Luisa. “Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Now can we go? We might’ve lost him.”

Clara reached her hand out to Luisa, who took it, stood, and then moved next to her beneath the cloak. Janet, still scowling, lowered her wand and moved beneath the cloak as well. Then they began down the trail of blood again.

They continued forward, following the trail since they’d lost track of Quirrell, and as they did, the blood seemed to turn from more of a spattering every now and again to a steady line, one that grew thicker and thicker the further into the forest they got. Clara didn’t want to say it – didn’t want to spook Luisa, who she could see was growing whiter and whiter the more blood she saw – but she was beginning to think that the professor wasn’t helping whatever it was but was, indeed, hunting it. It seemed that Luisa’s second guess was more likely.

Then they crested the top of what must have been a small hill and looked down on the hooded figure that they recognized as Quirrell. It was so dark beneath the forest cover that they couldn’t make out his face, but they didn’t need to see it. His wand was out, pointed like a sword, and on the other end was a brilliant white horse-like creature with a sparkling horn.

A unicorn.

The unicorn’s flank was split and bleeding silver blood. As they watched, Quirrell made a motion with his wand, and a thick green light spurted from its tip into the unicorn, who fell, more blood now dripping from its neck. He swooped toward it.

Luisa gasped.

The hooded figure whirled around to face them just as Janet reached over and clamped her hand across Luisa’s mouth. “If you make another sound,” Janet hissed, “we will die. I won’t even have to kill you. He will.” She nodded in Quirrell’s direction. “He can’t see us through the cloak, but he _can_ hear us. So shush.”

Luisa nodded rapidly, eyes wild, but she wasn’t looking at Janet, she was looking at Quirrell.

Clara could see it then, and her stomach roiled. That silver substance – the unicorn’s blood – dripped from what must have been Quirrell’s lips. Only the person down there – their face – it didn’t look like Quirrell anymore. It looked like someone – some _thing_ – else. She watched as he looked about for another presence and, on seeing no one, went back to the unicorn. “We need to go,” she whispered and turned to Luisa. “Do you think you can move?”

Luisa nodded again. Janet still hadn’t removed her hand from her mouth, but all at once, Luisa’s eyes widened as she reached up a hand, pointing away from them. She tried to say something around Janet’s hand, but it was all muffled.

“I told you to shush.”

But Luisa just continued to point, flailing a bit.

Clara looked across the hill to where she was pointing, and she saw Draco and Potter standing nearby, a huge dog with them. Draco, noticing their professor, gave a great shout and ran, the dog following him, but Potter stayed where he was. Their professor whirled around to face him, and Potter gave a great, full body wince. He started to run away but stumbled and fell. Quirrell – or whatever he now was – sped towards him.

Luisa tugged on the cloak, and this time when she started forward, Clara ran with her. It took Janet a second longer to move – and Luisa, too, straining against the hand clamped over her mouth – but they made it to Potter before Quirrell did, since he was nearer to them. Luisa pointed to the cloak and then fell on the ground next to the boy, who appeared to have blacked out.

Clara understood. She kneeled on the ground next to Potter and gestured for Janet to do the same. This small, they were able to fit the four of them under the cloak – and just in time. As soon as they had the cloak covering them, Quirrell appeared, eyes flashing and jaw quivering. He glanced over them – once, twice – and they froze, Janet clamping her hand over Luisa’s mouth again to keep her from screaming out.

“Master,” Quirrell murmured. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Yes,” came the hissing voice, but standing this close and watching him, Clara could see that Quirrell’s mouth wasn’t moving and that the voice must be coming from somewhere else entirely. “You let him slip away.”

Quirrell gave a great shiver, licking his lips, but there was no blood staining them the way there had been the other face. He stood still, looking around again, as though searching for the boy. When he still couldn’t see him, the voice said in that quiet hissing noise, “Go. Others will come to him. We have more important pursuits.”

But Quirrell looked back to the unicorn one last time, and as he did, Clara could see it – the other face, its lips covered with the translucent silver blood, on the back of his head. It was visible only for a moment before Quirrell pulled his hood back up, covering it, as he sped back along the trail of blood and out of the forest.

“Did you see that?” she asked, turning to Luisa and Janet, but knew before either of them answered that the answer would be no. Luisa’s eyes were squeezed shut, and Janet seemed to have shifted her eyes away just long enough to miss him, instead glaring at their squeamish, anxious friend.

Janet growled. “No.”

“See what?” Luisa asked, eyes slowly opening. “Is he gone?”

Clara nodded, but she didn’t say anything about what she’d seen. She wasn’t sure either of the others would believe her, and right now, it seemed better to listen to what Luisa had wanted the entire time – to get out of the forest. Her gaze traveled over the boy fallen before them. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Nothing,” Janet said. “We can’t all walk back under the cloak. He must have come in with friends; they’ll have to be the ones to get him out.”

“We can’t just leave him here!” Luisa exclaimed. “The forest is full of lots of different creatures and vampires and werewolves and…and…you _saw_ what just happened! If we leave him, he’ll die!”

“If we stay here, _we’ll_ die.” Janet was fierce when she wanted to be. Intense. Just as frightening in her own way as the two-faced man in his. “We can’t just live in the forest. Eventually we’ll fall asleep. The cloak can’t protect us forever.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, and you haven’t been listening to me!” Luisa hissed. She glared at Janet. “We can’t leave him alone; we’ve got to—” She stopped all at once, turning from Janet to Clara, who was listening but hadn’t said anything yet, hadn’t quite made up her mind one way or the other. Then she sighed. “The cloak really won’t protect all of us, will it? It isn’t big enough?”

Clara shook her head. “It’s stretched pretty thin right now. If we were all standing, I think…I think we wouldn’t all fit.” She frowned. “I don’t…I don’t want to try and walk out of here without it covering us. You’re right – the forest is terrifying,” and she turned to Janet, who seemed to not be afraid of anything or wouldn’t have admitted it if she was, before continuing, “and we don’t want to be seen trying to get out of it.”

Luisa nodded once. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Let me out of the cloak.”

“No!” Clara exclaimed. “We’re not leaving you!”

“Of course you’re not leaving me.” All of a sudden, even Luisa seemed fierce, her hazel eyes flashing. “My mom…. She taught me something,” she said, voice very soft, and she looked up at Clara, smile that same sad one it’d been right after Christmas break. “It’ll help him, I think. And then we can go.” She met Clara’s eyes. “Please.”

Clara glanced over to Janet and then back to Luisa and then nodded once. She held open one edge of the fabric covering them, and Luisa crept out from underneath it. Luisa looked left and right and then pulled out her wand, a smaller one than either Clara’s or Janet’s but with an intricate floral design on its shaft, and whispered a spell so softly that Clara couldn’t make out what she was saying. A soft grey light emitted from the tip of her wand, and an assortment of plants began to grow by the tree standing next to them: foxglove and thorn-apple, also known as devil’s snare, intertwined; mistletoe alongside a mixture of yellow and white roses blooming from the same bush; white heather with its berries just overhead; and behind it all, azalea that would be bright against the tree’s wood.

As soon as the last plant finished blooming, the grey light at the tip of Luisa’s wand faded, and she crept back beneath the folds of the cloak. “Okay,” she said, letting out a heavy breath. “We can go. He’ll be safe.”

Janet’s eyes narrowed. “All you did was make some plants grow. How does that help him?”

But Clara’s eyes widened as she stared at Luisa. “You know flower language?” She stared at what Luisa had written next to the tree. There were a couple of plants the other girl had used that she didn’t understand – the foxglove and thorn-apple, particularly, which seemed not to fit with the rest of her theme. She looked back to Luisa. “Who are you leaving the message for?”

Luisa didn’t say anything, eyes avoiding Clara’s and lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Talk about that later,” Janet said, eyes shifting from one girl to the other. “If we leave him, we can get out. Now.”

Clara nodded and stood, Luisa following suit. She turned to Janet. “Do you know the way out?”

“We should just follow the unicorn blood back to the entrance.”

“And if it runs out?”

Janet drew her wand. “I’ll get us out. Let’s go.”

But they didn’t need to worry about any of that. Janet led them along the path of blood back to the edge of the forest without any trouble. When they made it out, Luisa looked backwards with a forlorn look, but she didn’t stop them. They saw Draco outside of a hut with the huge dog they’d seen him with as they returned to the castle. There was smoke drifting up from the hut, so someone must live there. Maybe one of the professors, although Clara couldn’t guess who. Probably someone she was forgetting about. Not Quirrell.

Thinking about that other face on the back of his head, Clara shuddered.

They walked Luisa back to Hufflepuff without saying anything. Clara was thinking about Quirrell, Janet was just naturally quiet, and Luisa hadn’t said anything since she’d made the plants grow near Potter’s unconscious body. When they got there, she reached out from beneath the cloak and tapped one of the barrels with a specific rhythm. The door swung open all at once. Clara gave Luisa’s shoulder a squeeze, but Luisa still didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned back to face them after leaving the safety of the cloak, just before entering her dormitory, mouth open as though to speak.

Then she froze.

“Luisa?” Clara whirled around and saw, standing behind them, the figure of none other than Albus Dumbledore, their headmaster. Without thinking, she ran out from beneath the cloak and stood in front of Luisa, arms outstretched as though to protect her, but from what – and how – she couldn’t tell.

Dumbledore blinked. “Students appearing out of nowhere. Mysterious indeed.” His blue eyes twinkled. “If I’m right, there must be another one of you right,” and he reached out, grabbing the edge of the cloak, and smiled, “here.”

With the cloak gone, Clara was greeted with an image of Janet glaring angry daggers at her. She saw Janet whirl to face Dumbledore, standing between them, wand lifted as though to hex him. But she didn’t do anything, just stared at him, wand up, almost daring him to do something.

Dumbeldore didn’t seem afraid – why should he be? – didn’t even seem upset with them, didn’t lift his wand, didn’t lose the twinkle in his eyes. “Janet,” he said, voice very gentle, “I know that you are a very strong, talented young witch, but are you sure that is quite the best decision?”

Janet stared at him, not blinking, and then slowly lowered her wand. Clara could feel Luisa shivering behind her – she must have moved closer so that she could hide, not that it would help considering who had caught them. So, certain that Luisa was using her as a buffer, she didn’t move forward when she asked, “What are you going to do with us?”

“Escort you back to Slytherin, of course. Walking the halls right now could be very dangerous indeed.” Dumbledore nodded toward Luisa. “That is what you were doing with Ms. Alver, isn’t it? Helping her return to Hufflepuff safely?”

“Yeah,” Clara said, although that wasn’t really what they had been doing. She turned back to Luisa. “I think you can go back now. We can talk tomorrow, okay?”

Luisa’s eyes finally moved away from Dumbledore to focus on Clara, and she nodded once before pulling her into a huge hug. She held her tightly against her for a moment, then let go and ran into her house.

Dumbledore gestured to Janet and Clara, and they walked toward him. Then, together, the three of them made their way to Slytherin.

It had seemed like they were quiet on their way back from the forest, but it felt like they were even quieter now. Every now and again, Janet would shoot Clara a glare, but there wasn’t anything to be said. Not while Dumbledore was with them.

When they reached Slytherin, Dumbledore patted Clara on the back. He held up the cloak he’d taken from them, and his hand seemed to vanish beneath it. “I think I’ll be keeping this,” he said, “as I don’t believe it belongs to either one of you.”

Clara didn’t tell him it didn’t, certainly didn’t want to tell him how she’d found it, and just followed Janet back into Slytherin as the door shut behind them. She looked up at Janet. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t.”

But Janet’s glare didn’t seem quite as intense as it normally did. It seemed…hurt, maybe. She sighed. “I’m tired. We can talk about all of this tomorrow. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Clara opened her mouth then just as quickly shut it and nodded instead. Janet was right. And if she was honest with herself, she was exhausted, too. Maybe it would be better to sleep and try not to think about any of this.

But as she slept, visions of a two-faced man filled her dreams, turning them into nightmares as that second face, dribbling unicorn blood, bared its pointed teeth at her.


	16. Flower Language

“We need to tell Dumbledore.”

Luisa stared at Clara from the Hufflepuff table, voice so low as to be less than a whisper, but before Clara could say anything, Janet whirled around and glared at her. “Later. Not here.” She glanced up to the staff table where Quirrell sat, head rested on one palm, eyes half-lidded. His face was still that mottled white it normally was, and he jumped when Snape sat down next to him, although this was probably more due to being tired than it was to being frightened. “He might be listening.”

Clara yawned, not even covering her mouth with one hand. “He’s not listening. He’s talking.” But that didn’t mean that other face, that crude, half-dead one, wasn’t. She turned to Luisa, yawned again, and blinked. “After breakfast. We can go outside.”

The rainy weather had slowly faded in the past few months so that now, near exam time, it was sunny and warm without being overbearingly hot. Sunlight had filtered through the lake into Clara’s window that morning, sprinkled a mottled green across her face, and she’d woken to see fish flicking their fins in front of her bed. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she would have been excited and waved to them, but today she’d just groaned and flopped back down on her bed, covering her head with her pillow.

And as much as she wanted to talk about what they’d seen in the forest, what Clara wanted more than any of that was to take a nap. She didn’t know how Luisa and Janet weren’t just as exhausted as she was. But then, they hadn’t seen Quirrell’s other face. Janet probably wouldn’t have been afraid; she seemed like the type who would have expected something like that from any professor, even quivering Quirrell. Luisa…. Well, it was probably better that she hadn’t seen him. She would have screamed, and they would have been caught.

Clara stared at the food in front of her and then, with a sigh, reached for a mug that was smaller than her normal goblet, one full of the dark coffee she remembered her mother drinking often – the scent reminding her of how her mom had looked, hunched over their dining room table, hands cupped around her cracked white mug, occasionally taking a sip as her eyes went from bleary to wide awake. Clara took a sip from her own mug. It was bitter, but she would get used to that. It would wake her up, after all, and that was the important thing.

Well.

It would wake her up eventually.

* * *

The three girls met outside near the lake, under the same tree where Luisa and Clara had talked so many months ago. There weren’t many other students out right now; most of them were inside in that final study crunch before exams hit. A few scattered groups were trying to study on the grounds, but they were far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear what the girls were talking about – unless they used magic to listen in, but what upperclassman would care what first years were talking about?

Clara lay down under the tree, eyes staring upwards at its leaves. With the sunlight, nothing seemed quite as frightening as it had within the forest, or maybe it was just that this tree didn’t seem like it was out to get her. The leaves were a brighter green, the grass was soft, and the lake in front of her was welcoming, even with the giant squid lifting its tentacles and slapping them down on its surface with a huge smacking sound like a wet noodle.

Luisa sat down next to her and leaned against the tree with a huge sigh. At first, it seemed like Janet would keep standing, eyes scanning the lake in front of them, hands clasped behind her back. It would perhaps be an imposing figure if she weren’t so small. Then she, too, sat down on the grass, careful to keep her wand in one hand and stretched across her lap.

“We need to tell Dumbledore what we saw,” Luisa said again, much more insistent now that they were outside. She didn’t look at Janet but was instead focused entirely on Clara. “He’d want to know if one of the professors was killing unicorns, and then he would take care of it!”

“We can’t tell him anything,” Janet interjected as she whirled to face Luisa. “He hired Quirrell. He already knows how strange he is. Maybe he’s in on it.”

Luisa’s hands clenched into little fists. “Dumbledore is a great man! He even has a chocolate frog card! He’s been instrumental in fighting against…against You Know Who, and he fought Grindelwald, and he would never be okay with one of the professors killing unicorns! Never!”

“You’re an idiot,” Janet snapped. “Just because you don’t want to think someone’s capable of terrible things doesn’t mean they aren’t.”

Clara shifted from her spread out position, eyes moving from the sunlight-trimmed leaves overhead to the forest across the lake. Even now, it looked dark and deadly and frightening. “Did either of you see his other face?” she asked, suddenly quiet. It hadn’t felt right to bring it up when they were hiding in the forest, but she couldn’t keep herself from bringing it up now. Besides, these were her friends, and if she couldn’t bring it up with them, then she couldn’t bring it up with anyone – certainly not Dumbledore.

Janet’s eyes narrowed. “What other face?”

“Quirrell.” Clara took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. “He had another face on the back of his head. That’s the one that was drinking the blood.” She pushed her hands through the grass. It would be so easy to rip the new blades up again, but what would be the point? She’d just be destroying them. “That’s probably what he keeps having conversations with – that hissing voice.” She shuddered.

“What…what did it look like?” Luisa asked, voice quiet and hesitant.

Clara swallowed. “Like a dead snake,” she muttered. She’d seen them once or twice around the riverbank – not just the shed skins of them, but snakes killed by wandering foxes who had eaten part of them but been startled before finishing – all flat and dead and translucent – but they’d never been near as frightening as that face on the back of Quirrell’s head, the one that must have once been human. “All white and slitted red eyes and nose holes but no nose.” She shivered. It was the no nose thing that was getting to her more than the red eyes.

To her surprise, it was Luisa who didn’t believe her. “You couldn’t have seen that. People don’t look that way. You must have been…. You must have been stressed.” Her eyes were wide and afraid, so wide that Clara could see specks of green and gold hidden within them.

Janet looked from Luisa to Clara and then back again, crossing her arms. “I believe her,” she said with a firm voice. “Clara wouldn’t make up something like that. If she says she saw it, she saw it.”

“But that doesn’t mean it was actually there,” Luisa said, biting her lower lip. She looked to Clara, trying to meet her eyes. “Sometimes people see things that aren’t really there. They think they’re there, but they aren’t there, and when you’re….” She swallowed once and glanced down at her little hands. “When you’re seeing things that aren’t there, you can’t…you can’t always tell the difference.” Then she looked back up at Clara. “You…you understand what I’m saying right?”

“I saw him. I saw the other face. It was real.” Clara was just as firm in her words as Janet was. She couldn’t imagine doubting her eyes, doubting what she’d seen. She met Luisa’s eyes but didn’t reach over to her. “You don’t have to believe me, but it was just as real as that dead unicorn.”

“Then all the more reason we should tell someone!” Luisa exclaimed, still trying to keep her voice quiet but failing. “If Quirrell’s got that other face on the back of his head, like you said, and he’s killing unicorns and feeding them to it – maybe there’s a vampire stuck on the back of his head, but a unicorn vampire, and he’s got all the garlic around to keep the vampire at bay, and—”

“You’d think that’s something he would’ve told Dumbledore about, if Dumbledore’s such a great man. Wouldn’t he have helped him get rid of the unicorn vampire or whatever it is?” Janet asked, her arms still crossed. She glared at Luisa. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes more sense than Dumbledore hiring a unicorn killer!”

“Besides,” Janet continued as though she hadn’t heard Luisa at all, “he was calling that thing _master_ , so you’re just—”

“Stop!” Clara said. “Just…just stop.” She rubbed her forehead. “I won’t…I won’t tell Dumbledore. Yet.” She saw Luisa open her mouth to say something, but she continued before she could, making sure to face her directly as she explained. “If I was going to tell him anything, it would’ve been when he was walking us back to Slytherin. But it’s weird that he was already awake and watching us and everything.” She pressed her lips together. “I’d rather tell someone else.”

Clara couldn’t say it out loud, but she really wanted to tell Hermione what she had seen. No matter what her old friend had said about Snape, she needed to know all of this about Quirrell. Besides, she had people who could back her up, too! Two people! That was more than Hermione had. There was no way that Snape could have been jinxing Potter in a crowd and only have two people see him! Especially not when those two were only first years. Surely one of the other upperclassmen or one of the professors would have seen him.

Of course, Hermione could say the same thing about her. How was she going to believe Clara’s story? Potter might have seen Quirrell, but he’d fainted. She wasn’t sure she could count on him, especially since he hadn’t seen any of them. Besides, it was going to be hard to get her to believe in that cloak that had made them invisible without being able to show it to her, and since Dumbledore had taken it from them, there was no way she could use it to back herself up.

She was at a loss.

“You can’t tell any of the other professors,” Janet said with a scowl. “If Dumbledore’s okay with it—”

“He wouldn’t be okay with it!”

“—then they will be, too,” Janet continued on, despite Luisa’s interjection. Then she turned to Luisa, and her eyes narrowed. “They’ll think he’s okay with it, just like I do. Doesn’t matter if he is or not.” She crossed her arms before turning back to Clara. “And they’ll want to know how you know all of it, and then you’ll have to tell them about all the rule breaking, and then we’ll _all_ get into trouble.”

“I don’t want to be in trouble.” Luisa frowned, lips pressing together. “I know it was important for me to go with you, especially for Harry, but I….” She began to wring her hands together. “It’s important for the professors – or for Dumbledore – to know what’s going on, so I guess I can be okay with being in trouble.” Then she sighed. “If we’re not supposed to know, they might….” She grimaced. “There’s mind-wiping magic. They used it on some Muggles when….” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t use that on us, though.”

“Are you sure?” Janet snapped.

At some point, Clara tuned their arguing out. They were both right. Luisa was right that the professors should know about what was going on, but Janet was right that if they _did_ already know, then all that would happen would be that they would get into trouble. And after everything they’d seen – after everything _she’d_ seen – there was no reason to believe that their professors would be on their side. Quirrell certainly didn’t seem to be.

But all of this arguing wasn’t helping.

Clara groaned and slumped backward until she was laying on her back beneath the tree again. There was such a loud thwump as she dropped that little golden particles of pollen jumped up around her. She sneezed and rubbed at her nose with the back of her arm. It was enough to quiet her friends’ arguing. There wasn’t silence – not with the loud wet noodle thwacking of the giant squid’s tentacle on the lake’s surface, not with the birds flying overhead and cawing at each other – but her head felt a little quieter.

Luisa moved next to her. “Clara?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.” Clara looked over to Luisa and then lifted her head just enough to see Janet sitting with her arms crossed, watching her, suddenly silent. Truth be told, she wasn’t much of the _thinking before acting_ sort; the problem was that she didn’t know what action to take. She wasn’t strong enough to confront Quirrell herself, and even if she was, she didn’t know how to go about doing it. Not that she was afraid of him, by any means. That other face, though—

“Exams start in a few days,” Clara said finally, with a sigh. “Maybe we should…maybe we should study.” That didn’t sound right for her, didn’t _feel_ right for her. She didn’t want to study; she wanted to _do_ something! But she wasn’t going to be able to make that decision while listening to Janet and Luisa bicker. It seemed like they had both already decided about the right thing to do. She just…hadn’t.

Luisa’s face fell, but she didn’t try to argue. “Is there something either of you need help with?” she asked, looking from Clara to Janet and then back again. “I took your exams last year, so I can help if there’s something you don’t get.”

Janet didn’t say anything, still watching Clara, and Clara sighed. “Let’s get our stuff and meet in the kitchens. We can study there without having to worry about anyone getting mad at us for talking too loud.” She looked over at Luisa. “Sound good?”

“Yeah!” Luisa jumped up, finally smiling. “Sounds great.” She looked from Clara to Janet, who stood, brushing her palms across her robes, and then her smile froze. “I’ll meet the two of you there, okay?” she asked, brushing her hair behind one ear.

Clara’s brow furrowed. “Uh, sure, I guess?” She’d thought they could all walk together, but Luisa scampered off without them, leaving Clara laying under the tree and Janet still standing next to her. Clara propped herself up on her elbows and stared at Janet, waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong.”

Yeah, _that_ sounded like the truth. Clara pushed herself up so that she was sitting cross-legged, one hand on each knee. “Something’s wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“Janet,” Clara snapped, eyes narrowing. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Janet huffed. She kept eye contact with Clara for a few moments and then broke it, looking away across the lake. Then she took a deep breath. “Do whatever you want, but keep me out of it,” she said finally, glancing up. “Don’t throw me under the bus just because you want to tell professors you can’t trust anyway.” Her hand tightened on her wand, and it jumped up before she lowered it back to her side. For a moment, it seemed like she would say something else, but her jaw clamped shut. There was nothing else.

Clara pushed herself up. She wasn’t a particularly tall kid, but she’d already started her next growth spurt. Next to Janet, she seemed even taller, even though she wasn’t much more than a bit over her. “I won’t say anything about you or Luisa, if I say anything,” she said. “It’ll just be me that gets into trouble. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Janet nodded, and Clara thought, just that instant, that she should give the other girl a hug, although she couldn’t say just what made her think it. Maybe if she were Luisa, she would have. But she remembered how much Janet hated being touched and thought better of it. She shuffled her feet and looked down and then said,, “We should go get our stuff. Don’t want to leave Luisa waiting for too long. She’ll eat the whole kitchen, and then we’ll be starving.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

But Janet had lost something – some sort of _oomph_ , as Clara’s mother might have called it – and while she was just as quiet on their way back as she normally was, something about it felt off and wrong – just as bad as Clara suggesting that they should study when she still felt like they should be _doing_ something. Whatever it was, it seemed to disappear when they met Luisa in the kitchens, but even then, Janet seemed to want to keep to herself. And that was fine. Clara kind of wanted to keep to herself, too.

* * *

Exams came, and Clara still hadn’t decided what to do. She’d tried to fill her time with studying – which was hard enough on its own without also needing to be a distraction from what she really wanted to be thinking about – but no matter how hard she tried to focus on her studies, the more she felt her mind being drawn back to the red-eyed face on the back of Quirrell’s head. It was enough that she could feel it slipping into her tests, too. She couldn’t focus and kept finding herself the last to finish. Sometimes, she felt the weight of Janet’s stare on her – often, Janet was one of the first done in each of their classes, but she would sit with her hands folded together and wait until she felt like she could go without drawing attention to herself. Clara knew because she’d done the same thing at her other school; she didn’t want to be thought of as an egghead. Still didn’t.

But it was Professor Snape who seemed to grow annoyed with how long she was taking with the written portion of her exam, something she hadn’t quite expected of him.

“I do have other things to do with my time than watch you, Miss Ruvelle.”

Clara looked up from her test, which was done enough at this point that she might as well turn it in, since she wasn’t going to be able to figure out the rest of it anyway, and had that sudden sort of impulse to do something that she knew well and followed through on immediately. She looked around the rest of the room, checking to make sure that there was no one else with them, and then said, her voice very soft, “Do you really know flower language, Professor Snape?”

“You have already asked me that, Miss Ruvelle,” Snape said, barely looking up from the papers on his desk that he’d already begun to grade. The one in front of him had quite a lot of red marks already, and she could only just make out the name Crabbe scrawled on it in shaky quill writing. “Have you forgotten my answer?”

“You didn’t.” Clara pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands, taking a deep breath. “You asked about my mother.”

“I told you she was a great potions master.”

“Yeah.” Clara couldn’t help but be disappointed, staring at the paper in front of her. But maybe, if her mother had taught her flower language and Snape knew her mother, maybe they’d learned the language together – or maybe her mother had taught him, too. She took another deep breath. “There’s something….” She looked around again. “There’s something I need to tell someone, but I don’t know who to tell, and I thought…I thought if I told you in the flower language, then that…that would be okay.” She swallowed once. “If you’ll understand it.”

Snape finally looked up from his papers and stared at Clara without the slightest hint of curiosity. “I will understand it.”

Clara nodded. “Okay.” She pressed her lips together, brow furrowing as she tried to think of how she might communicate what she’d seen to her professor. “If I…if I made a bouquet, it would be of…of a cherry blossom stripped of its petals wrapped with white heather…black roses with baby’s breath….” She concentrated, trying to remember. “Lobelia and devil’s snare, white roses and begonia.” Then she looked up. It wasn’t as fancy as something her mother might have said, and it might not be near as specific as she might have liked, but she thought it would do.

Snape’s jaw gritted together, clenched harder than she’d ever seen it before. “Why haven’t you said any of this to Professor Dumbledore?”

This was hard. Clara couldn’t think of a way to continue in flower language, and since the worst of it was said in secret anyway, she felt it was okay to continue normally. “He caught me after I found out, and I didn’t say anything then. I was scared to tell him, and I thought he might already know.” Her hands clenched into little fists. “There were a lot of other things I was hearing. I wanted to straighten everything out, and I was scared, and I thought…I thought if I told him, he would…. I would get expelled, and I can’t be expelled because if I…if I ever want to see my mom again, then I have to learn magic like she did and then there’s got to be something that will bring her back.”

There. She’d said it. She hadn’t known that was what she was going to say until she did, and she could feel her face flushing a bright scarlet, darker even than the freckles dotting her skin. Clara looked down, unable to look her professor in the eyes.

“You weren’t afraid I would expel you?” Snape asked, voice just as calm and neutral as it always was.

Clara couldn’t look at him. “I think…I think maybe you could, if you wanted,” she said, shuffling her red sneakers on the cobblestone floor, “but I was just….” She swallowed, not wanting to implicate anyone, brow furrowing. “Some of the things I was hearing were about you and I just wanted to prove them wrong because you were…because you were nice to me.” She clenched her hands a little tighter but still didn’t look up.

After a few moments of silence, Snape said, “You should turn in your test, Miss Ruvelle. A failed grade in Potions won’t do you any good next year.”

Clara looked up, eyes wide, and she made it to the front of the classroom, where she handed over her papers. As she did so, Snape continued, his voice hushed, “I will take care of it for you.”

His voice made her shiver. There was something dark and angry beneath it, like Elena's had been before she tried to shave her head. She wanted to hide. So she started to leave the classroom, desperate to get away from him.

But Snape stopped her just as she was at the door. “When you found all of this out, were you in the Forbidden Forest?”

Clara stopped and turned to him, eyes wide. She swallowed, worried that this would make him change his mind about punishing her, but decided that, after everything else, it would be best to be truthful. But she couldn’t make herself say it out loud. She nodded once.

“Did you see anything else while you were there?”

That was a weird question. Was she supposed to have seen something else? Was there something else she _wasn’t_ supposed to have seen? Clara’s brow furrowed again as she thought over everything. She hadn’t really been paying that much attention when they left, but when they were following Quirrell—

“Spiders? There were a lot of spiders. Seemed to be a trail of them.” Clara shrugged. “But it’s a forest. There’s bound to be loads of spiders.”

“Is that all?” Snape asked. “Are you certain?”

Clara’s lips pressed together into a firm little line. There seemed to be a sense of urgency to his voice, but Clara couldn’t guess why. “A fox?” she said, finally. “I think I saw a fox.” But, again, it was a forest. There were bound to be foxes in forests. She wasn’t really surprised by that either. “I don’t know what you’re wanting me to have seen.”

At her admittance, Snape raised one hand and made a shooing motion, gaze already dropping back down to the papers on his desk. “You may go, Miss Ruvelle.”

Uncertain if she’d given the right answer or not, Clara turned and left the classroom. Her wand hung down at her side. She’d thought that telling someone would make her feel better, take a weight off of her chest, and it had, a little bit. Up until Snape had started asking her if she’d seen anything else, at least. Now she wasn’t sure if there was something else going on that she had missed.

She wanted to go back into the forest and explore and look for whatever it was she was supposed to not have seen, but given that it was forbidden and, more importantly, given that she hadn’t been expelled yet, it would probably be a good idea to avoid it entirely.

Didn’t stop her from being curious, though.

* * *

It was in the quiet of the library while she and Janet were studying for their final exam, Luisa sitting next to them in case they had a question over something they’d forgotten, that Clara said, feet swinging under the table, “I told Snape.” She kept her head down as she clarified, “About the forest.”

Luisa’s head snapped up, but it was the clenching of Janet’s fist on her wand that frightened Clara most. She tried to keep her eyes focused on her review sheets because she didn’t want to see the expression on Janet’s face if she looked up. Not yet.

“What did he say?” Luisa asked, her voice hushed. “Was he…was he mad?”

Clara thought over Snape’s response, and her head tilted to one side. “I think he was more mad at, uh, you know who than at me.” Her fingers rapped against the table. “He said he would take care of it. Wanted to know if I’d seen anything else in the forest. Don’t think I saw anything else interesting, though.”

“He was probably asking about the centaurs,” Luisa said, and then her eyes widened, and she snapped her mouth shut. “Not centaurs. There aren’t centaurs in the forest, and if there are, you didn’t hear about them from me.”

But Clara’s head had already popped up, and she stared at Luisa in amazement. “Centaurs? There are centaurs in the Forbidden Forest?” Then it was like a light bulb went off over her head. “That’s who your flower message was for!” She reached over and smacked the table in front of Luisa. “Wasn’t it?”

“ _Hush._ ”

And there she was again – that blonde upperclassman who seemed determined to uphold all of the rules of the library, glaring at Clara, freckles bright against her pale skin. “I’ve told you before, you’re not supposed to use the library for conversations about—”

“I know what I’m supposed to be using the library for,” Clara hissed at the other girl, eyes narrowing. After that other face on the back of Quirrell’s head, this girl didn’t seem so bad. Her hand tightened on her wand. She was just another girl. What could she do to her? “Maybe you shouldn’t be listening in on other people’s conversations.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be listening in if you weren’t having them and distracting me, now, would I?” Her head tilted back in a haughty gesture. “I’m sure I’m not the only one you’re bothering. Go study somewhere else if you’re going to be—”

Clara’s wand snapped up, pointed directly at the other girl. “You don’t scare me.”

The other girl scoffed, staring down Clara’s pointed wand without fear. “What do you know? First year’s got a bit of a bite to her.” She sneered. “Go on. Try it.”

She wanted to. More than almost anything, Clara wanted to wipe that smug grin off of the other girl’s face. She opened her mouth—

Only for Janet to tap Clara’s wand with the tip of her own.

Clara turned to Janet, whose dark eyes were focused squarely on her. Janet shook her head once. “You don’t want to do that.”

The yellow-haired girl leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Of course, she doesn’t. Upperclassmen know more spells and counter-spells than you do right now. Anything you try will just be—”

All of a sudden, Janet whirled toward the other girl, her wand pointed in her direction. “Try it, and I’ll kill you.”

“Hey!” Luisa tapped both of her friends’ backs, keeping one hand between each of their shoulder blades. “Don’t start a fight in the library!”

Clara looked back at her. “But _she_ started it!”

“We can go somewhere else. It’s not worth actually fighting over.”

Janet continued to glare at the other girl, dark eyes even darker, and Clara remembered what her friend had done to Draco, what she’d seen that first time she’d come back from trying to trail Quirrell. There was no doubt in her mind that if Janet wanted to kill this other girl, she could.

It wasn’t worth killing someone over.

Clara reached over and gently touched Janet’s hand where she grasped her wand. Janet jumped the slightest bit and whirled to glare at her. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

“Don’t touch me,” Clara said at the exact same time Janet did. But she tightened her touch on Janet’s hand. “She heard us, okay? And now we’re going to go. We’ve got other places we can study, yeah?”

Janet stared at Clara, eyes still dark. Then she took a deep breath and lowered her wand. “Fine.” She turned back to face the yellow-haired upperclassman. “But what I said still stands. If you ever—”

“You’ll hunt me down and kill me, yeah, yeah, got it.” The girl waved one hand at them. “Now go hold your conversations somewhere they aren’t going to distract us from studying.” She sneered. “Trust me, you don’t want to get into a fight with me.”

“No,” Janet said, voice low, “ _you_ don’t want to get into a fight with _me_.”

Clara nudged Janet’s side as she finished gathering their things. “C’mon,” she said, holding Janet’s stuff out to her. “Let’s go.” She gestured to Luisa, who had already started out of the library, and then she gently tugged on Janet’s robes, pulling her in their direction. “C’mon.”

Janet ripped her robes out of Clara’s grasp. “Fine. You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

As they left, Clara looked back at the yellow-haired girl one more time, brows furrowing. No one else in the library seemed to care at all about what they were doing. Most of them were preoccupied with their own studies. So why did she seem to care so much? Why had she been listening in? And if she was listening in, why would she tell them to shut it? None of it made any sense.

The three girls made their way through the corridors, and Clara realized that Luisa was leading them to the kitchens. She didn’t mind that at all. She leaned closer to her friend. “So – the centaurs – that’s who you were trying to get to help Potter, right?”

Luisa almost stopped and then nodded once. “My mom…my mom used to be friends with the centaurs in America. She said if I was ever in trouble, that would get them to help me.” Her hands tightened on her books. “I don’t know what it all means, though." Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even know there _was_ a flower language until you told me.”

Clara nodded. “My mom was teaching it to me before she left. I don’t know it really well, but I know…most of what you said. Some of it didn’t make sense to me, but maybe centaurs translate it differently.” She brushed a hand through her frizzy red hair. “I could teach you.” She turned to Janet. “And you, too. So we could talk without…without people complaining about us talking. We could just write the flowers and—”

Oh.

_Oh._

Clara reached for her back pocket, where she’d kept the letter she’d received at Christmas – the one with all of the different plants written on it. She scanned it once, twice, trying to take in the plants, and her eyes widened, lips spreading in a grin. “It’s a letter!” Then she folded it again and returned it to her back pocket. It would take a little bit for her to go through the different meanings of the plants on the page and try to figure out what it said – but now that she knew what it was, she could!

Janet glanced from Clara to Luisa and then back again, lips pressed together. “You didn’t mention either of us when you told Snape, did you?”

“No, course not.” Clara stared at her. “Just me. But he didn’t seem like he was going to expel me or anything. He probably wouldn’t have done anything to either of you either.” She instinctively clutched her books a little tighter. “I think…I think I may tell one other person, too.” She looked down again and continued before either of them could ask. “Hermione’s not really my friend anymore, but I think…I think I should tell her. Then she’ll stop spreading and thinking all of those nasty things about Snape. It’s probably Quirrell behind it, if the unicorn killing’s really bad, and we did see him try to attack Potter! So even if she didn’t see him—”

“She’s not going to believe you,” Janet said.

Clara shrugged. “Maybe not. But if he’s really been trying to hurt Potter, she should tell him that. So that he knows.” She glanced up and met Luisa’s eyes. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Luisa was beaming at her, all smiles and excited. “That’s exactly what friends do!” Her hands were full, so she couldn’t give Clara a hug. Instead, she bumped into her. “And I’m sure Hermione’s still your friend, even if you don’t think she is.”

Clara shrugged again and glanced over to Janet, whose expression had grown dark. Her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Janet shook her head. She shifted her books in her arms. “I think I’m going to go study by myself for a bit. Don’t look for me.” Then, without another word, she turned and walked off.

Clara stared after her, confused. “What’s her problem?”

Luisa shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Should I go after her?”

“No.” Luisa shook her head. “She probably wants to be alone for a little bit.” She bumped into Clara again. “But I’ll still be here, in case you need someone to help you with your studying.”

“Yeah, that’s good. I definitely still need a lot of help.”

Clara gave Luisa a grin, but that didn’t make her feel any better about Janet taking off on her own. Again. It felt like every time Janet might be upset about something, she just…left. How was she supposed to help and be a good friend if Janet just left every time something made her upset?

But there wasn’t anything she could do about that right now. She needed to study for her last exams. And tomorrow, when everything was done, she would find Hermione and tell her everything she’d discovered. Knowing her old friend, she’d want to spend today studying anyway. Clara didn’t want to interrupt that.


	17. Defining Good

You know, in some stories, this would be the time when the narrator would say _but tomorrow never came_ , which is really a way of saying not that it didn’t come – because tomorrow comes whether we want it to or not – but that the hoped for and imagined future didn’t – that the tomorrow the characters expect didn’t come. Now, truth be told, Clara didn’t really have that same sort of hope or imagination for the future as is typically assumed in this situation. All she really wanted – and even then, it wasn’t so much a strong want as something she intended on doing – was to tell Hermione what she’d learned about Professor Quirrell. But by the next morning, things had so drastically changed at the school that the sentiment still stood: tomorrow never came.

Clara awoke the next morning to a lot of chatter just outside her bed. She’d pulled her curtains all the way around in a way that normally kept all of that stuff out, but there was an opening in the folds that let it all in. That was probably Cat the cat’s fault; he had been curling up on her bed more and more often lately, even though right now he was nowhere to be seen. She rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand and pulled her curtains back as she got out of bed, immediately seeing a gaggle of other girls all chattering together as they left the room. She turned to see Janet leaning against her dresser, arms crossed, and yawned. “What’s going on?”

“Your friend and her friends got themselves into a bunch of trouble.”

“No, she didn’t!” Clara said immediately, eyes narrowing at the other girl. Then, after a few seconds, she asked, “Which friend?”

“Hermione.”

“ _She’s not my friend._ ” Clara jumped out of bed and began to go through her dresser, trying to pick out what to wear for the day. Nothing looked good. Nothing ever looked good when she knew it was just going to be hidden under her black robes. She turned to Janet again. “What did she do?”

* * *

By the time Clara made it to breakfast, she’d been filled in on the most relevant rumors along with a handful of what they knew for certain: Hermione, Harry, and the Weasley kid had all gone to one of the forbidden castle areas. Quirrell was dead, and Harry was in the hospital wing. He hadn’t woken up. Those, at least, were facts. Beyond that, the castle was atwitter with what might have happened. The three of them had found the weakest professor and forced him to show them what was locked up (“No one would be strong enough to do that with a professor,” Clara had said, to which Janet had just nodded sagely with a roll of her eyes); Quirrell had been a secret double agent for Voldemort’s spies, looking for a way to bring him back (this one had made Clara feel a little sickly – double agent was a little too close to that second face she’d seen on the back of his head, although she was certain that some long dead bad wizard wasn’t involved – unless he was a zombie! Janet didn’t think that was likely either, though); Harry had killed Quirrell the same way that he’d killed Voldemort (this one was quickly demolished, however, when Clara found out that Dumbledore had brought Harry to the hospital wing; “He must have been the one to kill Quirrell,” she said, but Janet wasn’t so sure).

Clara tried to find Hermione and the Weasley kid at the Gryffindor table, but she guessed they were in the middle of that great gathering of students. She didn’t see any point in trying to break through all of them just to talk to someone who wasn’t even her friend anymore. They were celebrities now. There were so many students in so many different robes and colors that she guessed she wouldn’t be able to get through them all anyway. Not without help, and who would help her, a Slytherin, get through to the Gryffindor table? No one, that’s who.

“Did you tell her?” Luisa asked as soon as Clara sat down at the Slytherin table, reaching over and tapping her shoulder. “Did you tell Hermione? About Quirrell?”

“No,” Clara said, frowning. “I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t even know she was thinking of doing anything like that.” Her shoulders slumped forward. “You’d think if she and those others were going to war with a professor they’d have wanted to get all the help they could.”

 _You’d think they would’ve asked me to help_ , she thought but didn’t say, _even if we aren’t really friends anymore. I would’ve helped._

But she hadn’t asked Hermione for help while she was following Quirrell around, and she still hadn’t told her anything about her discoveries. At least she’d been planning on doing that today, though! And she certainly would have said something if she was going to make an elite squad to kill him or something like that!

“Maybe they didn’t think you would help them,” Luisa said, “since you’re a Slytherin and all.”

“I would have helped them!” Clara clenched her hands into little fists. “And I would’ve taken you and Janet with me!”

Janet’s brows rose slightly at that, but she didn’t say anything.

Luisa just smiled and patted Clara’s hand. “I don’t know if I would’ve gone. After everything in the forest, I don’t know that I would’ve wanted to actually fight a professor. I don’t think I would’ve been any good at that.”

“There might have been other things we would’ve needed you for, though!” Clara said, eyes bright. “You didn’t have to fight anything in the forest, but if you hadn’t been there, Harry probably would have died!”

“I guess.” Luisa looked down and away, blushing the slightest bit. She brushed her hair back behind one ear. Then she glanced over to the huge group of students over at the Gryffindor table. “Aren’t you going to try and talk to her?”

Clara shook her head. “No.” She stuffed a bite of eggs into her mouth and began to talk around them. “If she wanted to talk to me, she’d come talk to me. I’m not gonna try and push through all of them just to talk to someone I don’t like. That’s stupid.”

“Maybe you can talk to her at the Quidditch game later,” Luisa suggested. “Everyone was excited about the game, so maybe all of this will have worn off by then!”

* * *

It hadn’t.

Hermione and the Weasley kid were still surrounded by a bunch of other students at the Quidditch game – not that Clara had been planning on talking to either of them, thank you very much; _she_ wanted to watch _the game_ – to the point that even getting there early, their stands were completely full and overflowing with students. Even the stairs up into the stands were full. Clara could see some faces looking out through some of the windows in the long towers, watching the game with delight.

Gryffindor lost, by the way. Quite soundly. It was impossible for them to win with their replacement seeker. Not because Harry was particularly good, in Clara’s estimate, but because whoever they’d had replacing him was just that bad. It was a huge part of why she kept looking over to Hermione’s spot across the stadium – not because she wanted to talk to Hermione or find out what had actually happened or anything like that, of course, but because the game was really boring and she didn’t have anything else to do.

It was on leaving the stands that the second great thing of the day happened, though.

Halfway from the stadium, in the back end of the crowd of students, Clara felt a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from continuing onward with Janet and Luisa. She froze in place, her two friends also freezing just in front of her when they realized she’d stopped, and she turned to see Snape looming behind her. She blinked a couple of times. “Is something wrong, Professor?”

“Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you, Miss Ruvelle.”

“Oh,” she said. Just _oh_.

What she really wanted to say was _you told, you squealed, you said you wouldn’t tell anyone and you told the headmaster, why did I trust a professor to keep his mouth shut, why didn’t I listen to Janet, why would you do this to me?_ But somehow it seemed like it would be unwise to say all of that to her head of house. Or to any professor, really, but in particular her head of house.

Clara swallowed once. “Can I take my friends with me?” she asked, eyes flicking over to Luisa and Janet before returning back to Professor Snape.

“You did everything alone, didn’t you, Miss Ruvelle?”

Clara swallowed again. “Yes.”

“Then no, Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you alone.”

Clara turned back to her friends and gave them a little wave. “Guess that means I, uh, have to go talk to the headmaster now.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t really look or feel right at all. Luisa’s face was pale, her eyes were wide, and Janet’s…. Well, Janet’s face didn’t look like it had changed at all, but her hand gripped her wand a little tighter, the edge pointing almost at Snape. “I’ll be fine,” Clara said as soon as she noticed what Janet was doing, then she looked up at Snape. “I _will_ be fine, won’t I?”

Snape sighed. “The headmaster is not in the business of killing students, unlike some people. I believe,” and here he paused ever so slightly, “he would only like to chat.”

“See?” Clara said, giving her friends an unsteady grin. “Chat. He just wants to chat. That’s all. I’ll be fine. Chat shouldn’t be too bad, right? Just a chat?”

But Luisa seemed to be too scared to say anything, and Janet wasn’t much for discussing these sorts of things before acting anyway. She was never really one for words. It was Janet that Clara was most worried about, but as she watched, the other girl seemed to take a deep breath and then released her tight hold on her wand, letting it lower ever so slightly. Clara let out a just as deeply held breath that she didn’t even know she was holding. “Alright,” she said finally, looking up at Snape. “So where do I need to go?”

* * *

Snape brought Clara to the third floor, to a gargoyle that seemed quite ordinary to her on first glance. Then he bent close enough to it to whisper something so quietly that Clara couldn’t hear it, and all at once, the gargoyle stepped aside to reveal a long, circular staircase. He gestured for Clara to go up, and so she did, not realizing until she’d reached the top that Snape hadn’t followed her.

Clara found herself to be in a large circular room, all gold and bright, full of light whistling noises. Everywhere she looked, something appeared to be moving, except for in one corner, where the Sorting Hat rested on a stool. It still looked just as ratty and horrible as it had before, and she shied away from it as she moved closer to what she guessed was Dumbledore’s desk. Weird of him to have asked to speak to her and then to not be here at all. She’d thought he would be waiting on her, just like the headmaster at her last school whenever she’d done something serious enough to warrant being called in. But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find him.

Maybe it was impulsive of her – or brash, if you want to use that word – but in absence of anyone else sitting on the proper side of the desk, Clara went over to what was probably Dumbledore’s seat. It was surrounded on all sides by pictures of old men and women who she guessed were previous headmasters or maybe even the school’s founders, but more importantly, it looked really, really comfortable. She sat on the chair – ugh, _significantly_ more comfortable – and crossed her legs before looking down at the desk, which she thought would be covered with papers or other such things, but instead found that it was perfectly clear.

Except for a curved glass top on a wooden pedestal, in which was a large glass rose with a glass bush of roses at its back like a cape.

Clara reached out to touch it, and the roses shifted between a variety of colors – blue, white, yellow, and the softest pink before finally resting on a bright, shining blue. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, staring at it, trying to figure out why it had shuffled through all of the colors before, why it was resting on blue now, when a sudden clatter of footsteps up the stairwell made her jump back and remove her hands from it entirely. It was only when Dumbledore appeared that she realized that she was still sitting in his chair. Well, she wasn’t going to move now. She was comfortable. It was his own fault for getting here later than she did.

“Took you long enough,” Clara said and then gasped at herself for saying it aloud. She swung her feet on Dumbledore’s great chair, and the edges of her red sneakers just barely scraped against the stone floor.

But Dumbledore didn’t jump on her the way her old headmaster would have. Instead, his bright blue eyes seemed to twinkle like the glass roses in their container. “My apologies, Clara. I thought it might be nice to enjoy a quiet walk from the Quidditch game. The sun is very bright today.”

“I guess.” Her eyes wandered about to the things moving about on the walls of Dumbledore’s office – one of the pictures seemed to be staring at her with bright green eyes, and it grinned at her and waved one long fingered hand at her before she turned away from it, uncomfortable. Everything in this room made her feel very small and very childish, even though she wasn’t a child and hadn’t been acting like one in quite some time now. “Professor Snape said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I did.” Dumbledore drew up to his desk and instead of telling Clara to move, like she’d expected he might, he instead sat at one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, clasping his hands together like an embarrassed, scolded child. “Professor Snape tells me that you have had a lot of adventures this past week.”

 _One_ , Clara wanted to correct, but she didn’t know how much Snape told him. It was better to not say anything at all and further implicate herself, as Janet might say. “Is Quirrell really dead?” she asked instead, still swinging her feet under the great desk.

Dumbledore tried to meet Clara’s eyes, but she kept looking away at other things. He seemed sad. “Yes.”

“And that other face on the back of his head?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“He’s a vampire. I knew it,” Clara said, quite forgetting that the vampire idea wasn’t hers at all but was actually Luisa’s. She stared at Dumbledore, her eyes fierce. “Did Potter really kill him? Is that what they were doing, trying to kill Quirrell?”

“I think that is something you should ask Harry and his friends yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Clara swung her feet back and forth a few times. “He’s not going to die or turn into a vampire, too, is he? From his fight with Quirrell and that thing on the back of his head?”

Dumbledore smiled. “That other being was not a vampire, Clara, and Harry isn’t going to die fighting him. Not while I’m alive.”

“That’s good. Hermione wouldn’t like it if Harry died. Not that I care what she’d like,” Clara corrected almost as soon as she’d said it. “And if…if that face wasn’t a vampire, what was it?”

“Voldemort.”

Clara’s brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to make fun of me, aren’t you?”

“No, I assure you, Clara, I am not.” Dumbledore tensed. “But perhaps that conversation can wait for another time.” He seemed to relax. “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

Clara thought about that for a moment. She wanted to ask about her mother, but she didn’t think he’d know anything about her. Besides, if she really wanted to ask anyone about her, she’d just ask Snape again. He seemed to know her – and to know flower language – so there was no point in asking Dumbledore. Her eyes focused on the glass roses. “Can you tell me what that is?”

Dumbledore followed her gaze and shook his head. “Unfortunately, that is one that you will have to figure out yourself.”

“I thought so.” Clara frowned and then asked, without thinking about it, “Why does everyone hate Slytherin so much?” Her hands clenched into little fists under the desk, and she looked down at them. “It’s not like we’re any different from anyone else, and they hate us because I think they think that we hate people who aren’t like us but by hating us without getting to know us aren’t they just as bad as they think we are?”

“I think you just answered your own question,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. That faded as he continued, however. “They believe, perhaps fairly, that Slytherin is the house of great evil wizards and, perhaps unfairly, that all evil wizards come from Slytherin.”

Clara’s brows furrowed. “But Quirrell wasn’t a Slytherin, was he?”

“No, he was not.” Dumbledore’s head tilted ever so slightly to one side. “He was a Ravenclaw.”

“And he was evil, if he had Voldemort on the back of his head and if he tried to kill Harry, so not all evil wizards come from Slytherin.” Clara looked up, and it looked like Dumbledore was about to say something but had thought better of it. “ _And_ ,” she continued, hoping to get back to what he’d wanted to say, “not everyone in Slytherin is evil, either! Merlin was in Slytherin,” she said, remembering her conversation with Luisa and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express, “and _he_ was good.”

“I guess it all depends on your definition of good.” Dumbledore seemed to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes like the others had. “Sometimes people see only what they want to see, whether or not it’s really there.”

“Like Hermione and Snape. They all thought that Snape was evil, when really it was Quirrell.” But as she said it, Clara wasn’t thinking about Snape; she was thinking about her friend, Janet. Her brow furrowed again. “Sometimes…sometimes people can look like they’re doing something really bad when…when really they’re trying to do something good, is that what you’re saying?”

“Not exactly, but it’s close.”

“And…and sometimes people can look like they’re doing something good when they’re trying to do something bad, too.” Clara pressed her lips together and looked back up to meet Dumbledore’s eyes. “That makes things really complicated, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does.”

Clara looked back down at her sneakers where they just brushed the stone floor. What she really wanted to ask, and what she didn’t dare say, was _Am I bad for being in Slytherin?_ Everything they’d been saying had kind of hit around that question, but she thought that if she asked it directly, Dumbledore wouldn’t answer it. She thought he’d probably say something about how she’d have to determine for herself whether she was bad or not and that no one else could tell her that.

Which, in her mind, wasn’t true. There were still some things that were bad regardless of how you looked at them. Quirrell trying to kill Harry was bad, for instance. But, then, Harry trying to kill Quirrell wouldn’t have been bad, would it? Not because Quirrell was bad and Harry was good, but because....

Well, Clara didn’t know how to put it into words. It was a little too big for her to know how to express at this point.

“I think it is quite possible,” Dumbledore started suddenly without prompting, “that sometimes how we treat people can affect whether they become good or bad.” He made sure to meet Clara’s eyes. “It is a lot easier to choose the right thing when you have friends who encourage you to do it than it is when you have no friends at all.”

Clara thought, again, of Janet. “Sometimes people don’t want friends. Sometimes they push everyone else away.”

Dumbledore’s smile faded, and he met her eyes. “I think you will find that no one pushes everyone away.”

Clara didn’t know what to say to that. She couldn’t think of an adequate response at all. Her lips pressed together again, and she nodded once. She was sure there were exceptions – wasn’t it Janet who had said that there were always exceptions? – but she couldn’t think of any to mention. Even Janet had her (and Luisa, too, although she was certain Janet wouldn’t admit to that).

“I also think that is quite enough chatting for one day,” Dumbledore said. He stood up with a small smile and spread his hands out. “Unless, of course, you had something else you wanted to ask me.”

Clara shook her head. “No.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something later, and if you do, feel free to come ask me.” Dumbledore tilted his head towards her. “I will feel free to choose whether to tell you the answer or not. Some things are better puzzled out yourself.”

Clara frowned. She wasn’t always good at the puzzling out. But that was what she had friends for, wasn’t it? As she jumped from Dumbledore’s overly large and overly comfortable chair, she reached for her back pocket, her fingers brushing against the letter still waiting there for her to translate it, and she smiled. “Yeah.” She looked up at Dumbledore with a grin. “Excuse me, headmaster, but I’ve got some puzzling out I’ve got to do.”

“Of course, you do,” Dumbledore said with that twinkle in his eye. “That’s a part of living, isn’t it?”

* * *

Clara was excited, ready to pour herself into translating the letter still shoved into her back pocket, as she scampered down the stairs and out of Dumbledore’s office – possibly even more excited than she’d thought she would be, considering the headmaster hadn’t seemed to be mad at her at all for anything involving Quirrell or the Forbidden Forest, since he’d likely put two and two together and guessed that was what she had been doing with Janet and Luisa. In fact, he’d seemed interested to just chat with her. Didn’t mean she wasn’t still annoyed with Snape for outing her, though.

But as soon as the gargoyle spun away to reveal the other side, Clara saw none other than Hermione and the Weasley boy standing together just there, as though they had been waiting for her to come down. Her eyes shifted between them, and without thinking about it, her teeth ground together, her jaw clenched. “What do you want?”

“We’re here to talk to Dumbledore. He wanted to chat with us.” The Weasley boy stared at her. “What’re you here for?”

Clara couldn’t stand him. She didn’t know why, but something about even the sight of him made her stomach queasy. “He wanted to talk to me, too. About important stuff. Stuff y’all don’t know anything about.” Her eyes met Hermione’s. “Would’ve told you, if you’d asked. Probably would’ve helped with all that killing people stuff you did with your sick friend.”

“He’s not sick—” the boy started to say.

“He’s in the hospital, isn’t he?” Clara glared at the boy again. “That’s what it means, being sick. You get stuck in the hospital.” She turned back to Hermione. “You should’ve asked me for help. I would’ve helped you.”

The Weasley boy scoffed at her. “You’re a Slytherin,” he said before Hermione could say anything. “You hang out with that Janet girl what hexes everyone. We don’t want your help.”

“You shut your mouth about her!” All at once, Clara felt something hot and dangerous building in the middle of her chest. Maybe it wasn’t building. Maybe it’d always been there. But whatever it was, it forced its way out of her, and all of a sudden, she had the Weasley boy slammed against the wall by his collar with one hand, the other holding her wand out and pointing it at his face, her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know nothing about her!”

“Clara!”

Finally, Hermione was saying something instead of letting that boy do all the speaking for her, but it wasn’t anything important, just standing up for a bully who didn’t need anyone else standing up for him. It certainly wasn’t anything Clara wanted to hear. When she looked over, she could see Hermione standing at the ready, her wand out and pointed squarely at her.

Clara’s lips pulled back into a sneer. “What, you’re going to attack me like you attacked Quirrell?” The boy struggled in her grasp, but she held him tighter and shoved him against the wall a little harder. “I knew about him. I knew about him and the stupid face on the back of his head. We were there when he killed the unicorn – you probably don’t even know about that – and we saved your pathetic sick friend from him – me and Luisa and Janet, all of us.”

“He didn’t say anything about that.”

“Of course, he didn’t. He fainted. I saw.”

The boy began to mumble in a high-pitched voice and squirm again, but Clara just turned and glared at him. “Shut up,” she growled. “I haven’t even hurt you yet. You’re pathetic.” She dropped him, and he ran to hide behind Hermione, who still had her wand out and pointed at Clara. Didn’t matter. Clara brushed her hand against her robes. “You were so convinced it was Snape, and I told you it wasn’t, and I was right, and you were wrong, and you still think you’re better. Just because you’re in a different house. Just because we’re in Slytherin.” She was quieter now. Tired. “You think you know so much, replacing me and Luisa with Gryffindor versions of us – _boy_ versions of us – and they’re not even close to us.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. Clara wanted her to say anything, to interrupt her, to try and change her mind, but there was nothing, just that tall boy hiding behind her bushy hair and Hermione still standing with her wand pointed at her, as though she were something fierce, something to be frightened of. She knew better. After everything, Clara knew she wasn’t anything to be frightened of, and neither was Janet or any of her friends.

Clara lowered her wand but glared at the boy still hiding behind Hermione, his face all scrunched up. “Janet’s got more good in her than you’ve got in your entire body.” She shook her head. It was no use waiting for something that wasn’t going to come.

Then the gargoyle began to spin again, the stairwell revealed, but no one came down. Clara turned toward it. “Dumbledore wants to talk to you two, you’d better go talk to him. Probably more important than trying to talk to me is.” Then she turned away from them and walked off down the corridor without another word.

She didn’t know what she expected to happen. Maybe for Hermione to call out after her or apologize or something.

But nobody came.

* * *

It was a few hours later, when Clara was sitting on her bed, her curtains pulled tight around her, staring at the letter and making notes about the different flowers on a separate sheet of paper, that she found her seclusion rudely interrupted. The curtains parted first as though to let Cat through, and Clara moved just enough so that he could jump onto the bed without running into her. To her surprise, though, it wasn’t Cat who came through, but Janet, who moved the curtains just enough so that she could sit on the edge of Clara’s bed and then shut them again so that no one could hear them.

Clara started to jump but then settled when she saw that it was her friend, and instead of hiding what she was trying to translate, she just moved it out of the way so that Janet had a better spot. “What do you want?”

“Heard you got in a fight with the new celebrities earlier,” Janet said, pausing just long enough for Cat to jump into her lap. She began to pet him. “Heard I got mentioned.”

“They started it.” Clara looked down at the letter again, then back to her page of miscellaneous translations and things the flowers and plants could mean, and then sighed.

“I can stand up for myself. You don’t have to do it for me.”

Clara shrugged. “You’re my friend. That’s what friends do. Stand up for you when you’re not there to do it yourself.” She looked up. “Besides, you’d do it for me.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, you would.” But Clara didn’t push the issue further. She looked over her page of attempted translations again and scowled. “This stuff doesn’t make any sense.” She collapsed back on her bed and groaned. “It’s like I’m missing something or someone’s got their lines crossed or making words that don’t mean what I know them to mean but they think I know.”

Janet gave Cat a last scratch behind his ears and then scooted closer to Clara. As she did so, Cat jumped to the side and curled up on the foot of the bed. Janet glanced over the papers. “Can I see?”

“Yeah, I guess, but you don’t know flower language, and I don’t—”

“You said you’d teach me,” Janet said, reaching out for the paper. “You said it’d be a secret language for the three of us.”

Clara froze. It’d always just been a secret language for her and her mom, one her dad didn’t know, and here she’d already agreed to bring Luisa and Janet in on it. Well, how was she going to keep it up without someone to practice with? And it wasn’t like her mom was around to talk with her anyway. “Yeah,” she said, leaning forward, “yeah, I did.”

“So teach me.”

“Alright.” Clara handed over the paper. “Someone sent me a letter at Christmas with all those plants on it, and I just realized they were probably trying to tell me something, only I don’t know what.” She pointed at the list and her translations. “That’s what I know each of those flowers could mean, but something’s wrong.” It was easy – instinct – to move closer to Janet and curl up next to her. “Only see, these two don’t really make sense – the foxglove and the thorn-apple, the ones with the begonia – because it’s…if it were the begonia and the thorn-apple, that’s easy, that’s beware disguises, see, which is…it could be a lot of things, but it’s…someone’s hiding and I’m supposed to be wary of them, right? And that could have been Quirrell. But foxglove – that’s insecurity – so am I supposed to beware insecure disguised people or be insecure about being wary of disguises or what?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Janet’s brows furrowed. “Luisa used foxglove with something in the Forbidden Forest. What’d she use it with? Looked like devil’s snare?”

Clara nodded. “That’s thorn-apple. They’re the same thing.”

“So it’s got to be a common phrase, or one that gets used and understood often, because Luisa used it in the forest. Whoever she was speaking to – the centaurs – must have been able to translate them together.”

“I guess, but Luisa didn’t know what she was saying. Her mom taught her that.”

Janet tapped her finger on the paper. “Then her mom might know what that phrase means.”

“Oh.” Clara sat up a little straighter. “I hadn’t thought about that.” She turned to Janet. “You think she could tell me?”

“Maybe.” Janet moved a little closer to Clara, so that they almost just touched. “So what does the rest mean?”

“It’s fairly straightforward, I think.” Clara held out the original letter. “Rose – there’s a lot of different meanings based on the color, but a rose, by itself, I think that’s supposed to be referring to me.”

“How come?”

Clara didn’t want to say it exactly, but she did anyway. “Rose is my middle name. When Mom used to speak to me with flowers, she always called me Rose. Maybe there’s not a flower for Clara,” she said, almost smiling. “It was her secret name for me. When you and Luisa and I get to writing with it, we’ll have to have flower names, too. You can pick one for yourself later, once I tell you what they—”

“Violet,” Janet said before Clara had a chance to finish. “I can be violet.”

Clara blinked twice. She was sure that Janet didn’t know what violet meant, but it must be one of her friend’s favorite flowers or something. Not worth arguing about. She grinned. “Sure. Violet’s good. Now we just have to ask Luisa what hers should be.” Then she took a deep breath and turned back to the paper. “The three yellow roses – there are a lot of definitions for yellow roses, but I think this one is meant to be an apology. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ The eglantine rose, the pink carnation, and the white rose – I think those are supposed to be taken together, so here it probably means something like _Your mother hurt you in secret_ , and with the thorn-apple it probably means _I, disguised, saw it._ ” Her brows furrowed. “Then it’s that…the begonia foxglove thorn-apple combination I told you about that doesn’t make any sense, and then begonia, striped yellow and pink carnation – begonia still means _beware_ , and then carnations…different colors have different meanings and when they’re striped—”

Janet held up one hand, stopping her. “Just tell me what you think it means, and I can follow what you have written here.”

Clara nodded once. “ _Rose – Clara, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your mother hurt you in secret, and I, disguised, saw it but couldn’t do anything. Beware…something, and beware your stepmother, who does not love you. There are two of us protecting you, but be careful who you tell about this message. I love you. Stand firm._ ” Her lips pressed together. “There doesn’t seem to be anything indicating who sent it, though.”

“You’re sure it’s not from your mom?” Janet asked.

“Yeah.” Clara shook her head. “She hasn’t sent me anything in years. I don’t know why she would now.” Her finger tapped the last plant – the ivy. “That used to be her flower sign, her name, when we’d talk, but whoever it was saw her hurt me and couldn’t do anything about it, so it _can’t_ be her.” She collapsed back against her headboard again. “The being careful bit – I’ll just tell you and Luisa, that’s being careful – and the thing about my stepmom….” She frowned. “I probably shouldn’t take home the present that came with this letter. She’d get real upset. Probably break it.”

“I can’t take it,” Janet said, brow furrowing. “It wouldn’t be any better off with me.”

All of a sudden, Clara’s stomach began to growl, and she laughed. “I missed lunch, talking with Dumbledore and fighting with Hermione and then translating this. I’m starved.” She took all her papers together and hid them in her top drawer, other than the first one – the letter itself – which she folded and stuck in her back pocket again. “The dining hall should be open now, right? I can ask Luisa if she’ll take care of it. And Artemis. Elena will be pissed if I bring an owl back with me.”

Janet paused and then asked, finally, “Do you think she would take Cat with her, too?”

Clara blinked a couple of times and frowned. “Sure. But don’t you want to take him back with you?”

“Yeah.” Janet nodded and looked away. “But a bunch of the kids I live with bully him, and I can’t take care of him without magic. They’re scared of me. They’ll just take it out on him.” She shrugged. “He’d be better off somewhere else over the summer.”

“Well, let’s ask her, then,” Clara said, and she reached out, patting Janet’s shoulder. The other girl looked up at her, shocked, but didn’t say anything. Then they left and walked down to dinner together.

* * *

Two days later, everything seemed to be settled. It was the last feast of the school year, Potter was finally awake (which meant that he was now dealing with the same crowd of students that Hermione and the Weasley boy had dealt with only a few days earlier), and Janet and Clara had talked to Luisa about taking care of their pets (and the glass rose) over the summer, to which she had agreed most heartily. She’d been a little surprised to see that Janet was asking for her help with anything, but she’d been pleased to offer it nevertheless. The three of them sat as close together as they could – Janet and Clara at the Slytherin table and Luisa just behind them at the Hufflepuff table – and talked together as they ate. Janet didn’t say much, which was normal for her, but Luisa filled in the gaps with her chatter.

The entire hall was covered with green and silver – Slytherin’s colors – because Slytherin had won the House Cup, not that Clara or Janet particularly cared. In fact, Clara didn’t think the green and silver looked good covering the entire hall. The banners and colors were garish against the stone and woodwork. Most children probably wouldn’t have noticed that, but her dad was a carpenter – it might have been more his thoughts than her own that she was channeling.

Dumbledore arrived, and the hall quieted as he told them the standings of each house for the House Cup. Slytherin had, of course, won by a gap of almost fifty points. Hufflepuff, Luisa’s house, had been in third place, and Gryffindor, Hermione’s house, had been in last place. Clara wasn’t really paying attention because she didn’t really care, but then Dumbledore said, his voice just as soft as it always was, “I have a few last-minute points to dish out.”

Clara’s ears perked up, and she looked up at Dumbledore, who seemed to meet her eyes with a twinkle in his own.

“First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley—”

All of a sudden, Clara’s face turned a bright, angry red.

“—for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

 _Oh no._ Clara knew, then, what was happening, and she could feel it bubbling in her chest with the same hot danger that she’d felt when the Weasley boy had mocked Janet only a few days earlier. Her gaze moved to meet Janet’s.

“Second – to Miss Hermione Granger…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

Clara glanced over to the girl who was once her friend and found, from what little she could see through the other table, that Hermione had hidden her face. Well enough. Fine. The fire in her belly licked a little higher, and her teeth gritted together.

“Third – to Mr. Harry Potter…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”

The cheer then was so loud that Clara could barely hear. Janet covered her ears and turned to her with a slightly panicked look in her eyes. “Do you need to go?” Clara asked, mouthing the words even though she knew that Janet couldn’t hear them, and when Janet just nodded wordlessly, Clara stood, prodded Luisa in the arm, and gestured out of the hall. Luisa looked at her curiously, then turned to Janet, who’d grown quite white, and then followed the two of them out.

But the room grew quiet again just as they made it to the front doors of the dining hall. Luisa continued to walk with Janet, taking her down to the kitchen where they could eat in peace, but Clara paused in the doorway and turned to face Dumbledore.

“There are all kinds of courage.” Dumbledore seemed to meet Clara’s eyes with a smile. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points,” and here he hesitated, and Clara didn’t know what to expect but he was meeting her eyes, and so she waited until he was finished, “to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”

She didn’t know what she expected.

Clara broke eye contact with the headmaster and left the hall just as the banners and colors of Slytherin were replaced with the banners and colors of Gryffindor. The red and gold looked a little better than the green and silver did, but that was tarnished by everything that had just happened. Her teeth gritted together, and her hands clenched into little fists, her wand held tight, as she walked away.

Her friends waited for her in the kitchens, where everything was still loud, but it was a dampened sort of sound, as though they’d plugged their ears with a bunch of cotton. “What happened?” Luisa asked as Clara entered. “Everyone seemed to get really quiet there at the end, and then it was really loud again.”

Clara spoke through her gritted teeth. “Gryffindor won the House Cup. Last minute points from Hermione and her friends’ shenanigans and everything with Quirrell.” She turned to Luisa and couldn’t keep herself from glaring at her, even though it wasn’t her friend’s fault. “They almost get themselves killed and the whole school knows about it and I did the right thing and told a professor so that he could handle it and they get points and we get nothing.” Her hands clenched so tight she could feel her wand tingling in its place.

“It’s okay to not win the House Cup, Clara. Hufflepuff never wins.”

“I don’t care about the House Cup. I care that it’s not fair.” Clara’s eyes flicked over to Janet, who sat in a corner with Figgy the house elf. Janet seemed to be watching her warily. She turned back to Luisa. “Does adding all those extra points at the end seem fair to you?”

“I don’t know—”

“Does rewarding them for breaking rules and getting themselves in danger seem fair to you when you know if it’d been anyone from Slytherin we’d’ve gotten our points taken away?”

“I don’t—”

“Does that seem _fair_ to you?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Luisa made out, hands clenched into fists the same as Clara’s were, “but I really don’t like you asking me questions and then not letting me answer them!” Her lips pressed together into a thin little line. “I don’t know if it’s fair or not, but if Dumbledore’s doing it, then he’s got a reason for it, and we didn’t care about the House Cup anyway, so I don’t know why it’s so important to you now when you couldn’t’ve cared less if you’d won before.”

“It’s not about winning,” Janet said from her place on the floor with Figgy. She met Clara’s eyes and nodded once. “It’s about the principle of the thing. Whether it’s right or wrong.”

Clara’s hands tightened a little bit more. “Sometimes when it looks like someone’s doing something bad, they might actually be doing something good, and sometimes when it looks like someone’s doing something good, they might actually be doing something bad.” She took a deep breath and relaxed. Then she walked past Luisa and sat down on the floor next to Janet.

After a few minutes, Luisa followed. “What was that supposed to mean?”

“Something I talked about with Dumbledore. It’s really muddled.” Clara shook her head. “Doesn’t feel right to me, what he’s doing up there, but it probably feels right to someone else.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Janet said.

“No.” Clara pressed her lips together, thinking. “Just him trying to teach people what is right.” Her eyes searched the stone floor in front of her. “Sometimes breaking rules – even good, safe rules – is a good thing. Like if Harry was trying to kill Quirrell, that’s okay, even if Quirrell killing him wasn’t. Because Harry wasn’t hurting him to hurt him or breaking rules to break rules. He wasn’t doing it for himself.” She seemed about to chance on something, then she continued, shaking her head, “But when Quirrell killed the unicorn, he wasn’t doing it for himself, he was doing it for Voldemort – for that face on the back of his head – so I guess even _that’s_ not really right.” She let out a groan. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s okay.” Luisa reached over and patted Clara’s knee. “You don’t have to get it. It sounds complicated. Maybe it’s okay to just take a break and not think about it and eat every once in a while.” She looked from Clara to Janet, and while Janet didn’t respond, Clara gave a little nod. Luisa smiled and then said to Figgy just as politely as she could, “Can I have some pumpkin juice, please?”

“Yes, Miss Luisa.” Figgy nodded once towards Luisa, once towards Clara, and then smiled towards Janet before whisking a goblet of pumpkin juice in front of her. “Would anyone else like something?”

* * *

The ride back from Hogwarts seemed almost uneventful after everything that had happened that year. Clara, Janet, and Luisa all rode in one cart together, and Luisa bought a bunch of sweets just like she had on the trip there. This time, Clara was a little more careful when it came to eating the jelly beans, but Luisa hadn’t played that prank on Janet yet so there was a lot of fun to be had. Janet glared fiercely at Luisa, but when Clara burst out laughing, she settled. Cat the cat seemed intrigued by Artemis and kept trying to bat at her long golden wings with his one good front paw. Artemis stared at him with her large unblinking black eyes and then proceeded to ignore him as best she could. Luisa’s owl, Agatha, sat on a perch in her cage next to Artemis and watched the exchange curiously, every now and again poking her wing out to try and get Cat to play with her instead, not that it particularly worked.

Then they were all back at the station with all of their things, waiting to be allowed off Platform 9 ¾. Clara looked at Luisa with a sigh. “You’ll take care of Artemis okay, right? And if your mom is feeling better, you’ll ask her what the flower message she taught you to send means, and then you’ll—”

“I’ll write it down so I can tell you when we get back to school, I know, I know.” Luisa smiled. “I should see if Dad will let me invite both of you over.” She started to reach out for Janet and then hesitated. “Is it alright if I—?”

Janet shivered once. “Yeah, fine, just get it over with before we get off the platform.”

Luisa pulled Janet into a huge hug, and then without even asking, Clara hugged the two of them together. It only lasted a minute – Janet started squirming between them all too soon, and so they let her go. The three of them were waved through the passageway into the Muggle train station; Clara could see Elena already, but she wasn’t alone this time. In fact, Elena seemed to be standing with Luisa’s father and her younger brother, Rafael, but she didn’t seem particularly pleased about it. As soon as she saw Clara, she gestured with one hand and started walking off, much to Rafael’s dismay.

“I guess that means I’ve got to go,” Clara said with a sigh. She turned to Janet briefly. “Don’t you get into any trouble over the summer, okay?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

Clara pulled her into another hug then said as she let her go, “No hexing people.”

“Can’t hex people over the summer. The whole ministry’s watching.” Janet frowned. “Wouldn’t hex normal people anyway.”

“ _Clara._ ”

She could hear her stepmother’s voice, however quiet, cutting through the din of the platform and winced. “I gotta go. See you next year.”

Clara caught up with Elena quickly enough, but she turned back for one last view. Luisa was dragging Janet over to her family to introduce them, and Luisa’s dad seemed very unenthusiastic about the two new pets Luisa was bringing home with her over the summer. The entire thing would make her laugh on a normal day, but now that she was with her stepmother again, she knew better than to do it. Elena would just ask what she was laughing at, and if she didn’t have a good enough answer, she would get into trouble.

But suffering through a summer with her stepmother would finally be worth it because at the end she would have her next year at Hogwarts just waiting for her. Clara couldn’t get back to her friends soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you looking for your favorite characters and wanting to know when they show up:
> 
> -Luisa shows up in Chapter Four.  
> -Snape shows up in Chapter Four.  
> -Janet - Miss Lint - makes an appearance in Chapter Four.  
> -Most other HP specific characters show up in Chapter Five, along with Bedelia and Alana.
> 
> For those of you from the HP fandom who might be finding this - Rose Solano and Clara Ruvelle are one and the same person. Throughout the majority of JTV, she is known as Rose Solano; Clara Ruvelle is her birth name.
> 
> I'm so excited to finally be getting this first chapter posted. It's been...a long time coming, and I'm so glad to finally be sharing all of this with you.
> 
> Buckle in, because this book is going to be updated weekly until the last week of the year. (Hopefully the second book will come out around this time next year. /Hopefully./)
> 
> Comment and kudos are appreciated! Let me know what you think!


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